


Orion

by kkingofthebeach



Series: stars!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, First Time, Fluff, Friendship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Schmoop, UST, Withdrawal, some Cas/Crowley but mostly in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkingofthebeach/pseuds/kkingofthebeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is fine with sailing through high school as nobody exceptional or worth noting - he can even deal with Castiel, typical hotshot football player, always staring at him over lunch. What he doesn't expect is for Castiel to pick up the pieces of him and worm his way into his life, carving a place there for himself - and he certainly never imagined that he'd be finding out that there's more to Cas than money and popularity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for over 6 months and the fact it's finished is just unreal, and honestly I don't think this fic would have become what it is without pj (hewaslost) telling me it didn't suck and listening to me destroy my sanity over it. After teasing her with out of order snippets and a whole tag about fish, she stuck around to beta and be generally amazing :3 there's also a tag for related feels to this fic on my tumblr (http://between2devils.tumblr.com/stars%21verse)

“He’s staring again.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?”

Dean looked up from his plate and rolled his eyes at Pamela’s poorly concealed amusement; her eyebrows were sky high and she couldn’t neutralise the smirk on her lips. Dean looked a little to his right, and there he was. They made awkward eye contact across the cafeteria – or at least, it was awkward on Dean’s part; Castiel just continued to stare unabashedly. Dean looked away quickly and turned back to his table, but couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that a set of blue eyes were probably still boring into the side of face. 

“But doesn’t he stare at everyone?” Ash pointed out, and Dean hated to admit that he was rescuing him from yet another lengthy interrogation. Sadly though, Pamela was hard to be swayed off course – she just barked out a laugh and tilted back on her chair. 

“Yeah… but he stares at Dean _every_ lunch -” 

“It’s not every day!”

 “And it’s a different kind of stare,” Pamela powered on as though Dean hadn’t even interrupted her. “It’s all squinty and intense.” 

Dean hoped nobody saw the soda that dribbled out of his mouth as he choked on it. 

They did, obviously. Jo snorted and handed him a napkin, shaking her head in embarrassment. 

“Can we just agree that Castiel is weird and leave it at that?” Jo always had to intervene to end these discussions; otherwise they would start to go sour very quickly. That was the problem of having three feisty, temperamental teens and one closet genius in a single group. 

Dean didn’t look at Castiel’s table again for the rest of lunch. He didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything – _that_ group did absolutely nothing to interest Dean. They were jocks mainly, a few cheerleaders too, all with varying degrees of intelligence. The one thing they all had in common was money, lots of it - that, and popularity. 

They were the kind of people that did nothing to actually warrant their popularity, but had ended being the crème de la crème anyway. Dean assumed it was down to a combination of their wealth, sporting ability, and mostly good looks. Whenever this came up, Dean stressed the ‘mostly’, because it was only the girls and a handful of the guys - the rest were just intimidating and pompous with nothing to compensate for it. 

That was pretty much the extent of Dean’s knowledge of that table. He’d never really spoken to any of them, just kept his head down in the halls when they seemed too rowdy – the older guys, Uriel and Raphael, had a habit of picking on people for no reason, just because they could. Besides, almost all of them refused to even socialise outside of their circle. Dean had come across Gabriel a few times, but he would more flit from group to group, never wanting to commit to one clique, and definitely not his own. 

Castiel stared a lot – Dean had firmly established this. And even though he would adamantly deny it when asked, Castiel did seem to stare at Dean more than anyone else. It was skeevy and gave him the creeps, made him feel constantly under scrutiny as he shovelled his lunch into his mouth with all the refinement of a pig. Dean didn’t know much about Castiel other than he was the youngest of his friends; a junior like himself, while the others were all seniors. He shared study hall with Dean, but they never crossed paths and Dean didn’t think either of them had great intentions of changing that.

 

********

 

It was Friday, and Dean’s plans had been shit on. 

He was supposed to be seeing a band at a bar across town, and Jo was _supposed_ to come with him. They’d been planning it for a couple of weeks, but all it took was Jo giving her mom a little too much attitude to land her a double shift at the Roadhouse. Dean didn’t even want to know what went on in that house – two females with God-given stubbornness under one roof was more than he could ever hope to handle, he’d probably do better against a full-on monster. 

He went to the Roadhouse anyway, originally hoping to drown Jo in crippling guilt after sulking at her with glassy eyes. He was brought back to reality when he sat down on a stool opposite her and she simply put her hands on her hips in response. Jo had become way too sharp to fall prey to his devises, and was past humouring him long ago. 

“What are you doing here?” Jo leaned across the bar and narrowed her eyes at Dean. He quirked a smile at the girl in front of him – she really couldn’t see just how alike her and Ellen were. 

“First you blow me off, now I can’t even stop by for a visit?” 

“If you’re here to convince my mom to let me go out, you should cut your losses and leave now.” 

Dean looked around sheepishly, scanning the immediate area for Ellen. “Trust me, the last thing I wanna do is pick a fight with your mom!” He said in a hushed tone – the woman was a little terrifying to be frank, and even Dean’s bravado couldn’t hold up against her. “So, can I have a beer?” 

Jo rolled her eyes and pushed off the bar, “Do you have an ID for this beer?” 

“What? Come on, I get served at all the bars around here!” 

“Yeah well, you have the disadvantage of not being able to flirt with me.” She was uncapping a beer anyway, and slid it over with a triumphant glint in her eye. Dean snatched the bottle before she could try taunting him even more. 

Dean sipped at his beer and watched Jo as she worked, wiping down the bar occasionally, but mostly fending off the rough men coming on to her – the kind that went hunting and soaked themselves in cheap whiskey each night. Dean reflexively cracked his knuckles as he shot them sidelong glares – even though intense protectiveness of Jo was rushing through his veins, he knew these guys would group together and jump him in a minute, probably landing him in the hospital. Besides, he knew she was capable of handling herself – if any of those flannel-wearing, shotgun-bearing, pervs tried something she’d have them keeled over with their nose bleeding and balls in agony.

That still didn’t quell the burning instinct to defend her though – she was the closest thing Dean had to a sister, and he was almost as over-protective of her as he was Sam. 

“So I heard Cassie has a new boyfriend,” Jo said nonchalantly when Dean was starting another beer. “He’s on the football team, or something.”

Dean looked up at Jo; a little exasperated at the careful look she was giving him. “So?”

 “ _So_ , you guys were pretty serious--”

 "That was last year Jo, I really don’t care who she’s screwing now.”

 Jo scowled at Dean’s ability to drag everything into the gutter, and then the claws came out. “Well you dated her for like, two months, which is some kind of crazy record for you.” Dean picked up a handful of peanuts and launched them at Jo, which Ellen just happened to see, leading to Dean leaving pretty quickly.

 

********

 

Dean was across town at the show, and while the band were playing their last few songs he sidled up to the bar to charm his way into a few tequila shots. He hadn’t planned on drinking there since he had to drive home, but he was still feeling a little unenthusiastic and sorry for himself after coming alone. He didn’t stay too long, just flirted with the blonde bartender long enough to find out she was too empty-headed and unstable for even him to endure any longer with.

 When the set finished Dean wasted no time in abandoning the place, just wanting to get home and find leftover dinner in the oven waiting for him. He was a little tipsy though, and as he walked to the parking lot he managed to nudge a guy on the shoulder.

 “The fuck?”

  Dean honestly wanted to slink away, but the guy was already turning around and glaring at him, spitting out ‘Winchester’, with a worrying fire in his eyes. Dean recognised him – a football player from one of the other schools around, known as the world’s biggest asshole.

 “Do you remember what I told you last time we met, Winchester?” He sneered, already advancing on Dean with two of his friends in tow.

 So maybe Dean knew from first hand experience that this guy was a dick. His name was Alastair, and a few months ago they’d run into each other at a party. Dean shouldn’t even have been there, he went with Pamela who said she knew people there, but she disappeared into thin air within the first half hour. Dean was flirting with some girl, and before he knew it Alastair came bounding up and slammed him into a wall, talking to him in a slow and sinister voice as he crushed his windpipe under his forearm. The girl was Alastair’s plaything, and he didn’t like to share.

 And Dean knew that he should be probably be scared now, Alastair had backed him into an alleyway that was hidden under the cover of the shadows, and nobody would notice a thing. He still remembered the way Alastair’s repugnant breath curled over his cheek as he described the ways in which he’d beat him into next week, until he begged to be knocked out or killed because the pain was unbearable. But Dean just couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid, the adrenaline was already pumping through his system and he couldn’t believe it, but he was buzzing with anticipation of what was to come.

 Dean thought about how uninteresting and uneventful this night had been, and the idea of facing Alastair head-on was more than appealing, made Dean think it would liven things up; it would make him feel _alive_. What he didn’t expect though, was for the three of them to circle around him, and start punching from all angles so that he’d be reeling in pain almost instantly. He fought back, of course he did, he was throwing as many punches and kicks as he could but it seemed almost futile after the first few minutes. Alastair fisted his hand in Dean’s hair and rammed his head into the brick wall, making his vision cloud over and blood fill his mouth after biting down on his own tongue. One of them yanked Dean’s arms behind his back and restrained him while Alastair hit him square in the eye, his knuckles leaving a wound of searing hot pain.

 Alastair laughed, the shrill sound making Dean’s skin crawl as it echoed through the alley. Dean was still being held back as Alastair went on to land punch after punch in his stomach, until Dean was using all his strength to keep from sobbing. He could barely even stand anymore, just sank to the dank ground, trying to curl up in protection. It was useless, they started kicking instead and Dean could feel the toes of their boots bruising his spine and smashing his head until he could barely keep a grasp on things, until his nose was bleeding and his mouth was filled with blood and he was choking on it.

 Just when Dean thought he was about to pass out, Alastair was pulled back roughly, and shoved against the wall. Dean tried to open his eyes wider and blink through the fuzzy black spots in his vision, and he thought he must be brain-damaged or delirious because Castiel was there in his trench coat, handing Alastair the beating of his life. It didn’t take long for Alastair to become a bleeding mess on the ground too, leaving Castiel free to grab the other two guys by the scruffs of their necks and drag them away from Dean’s crumpled body. He took them both on at once, suffering more than a few hits, but the sheer purpose and ferocity in Castiel’s demeanour had them scurrying off with Alastair, cursing as they went.

 Castiel rolled his shoulders back and flexed his fingers before hurrying over to Dean, who was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. The blood gushing from Dean’s nose had subsided to a trickle of crimson, and he wiped what had dribbled down his chin on the back of his hand. Castiel crouched down next to him, hesitant to touch Dean, as he still looked incredibly fragile and on the brink of unconsciousness.

 “How am I gonna get blood stains out of the car seats…” Dean whined after spitting out yet more blood.

 “You can’t drive home in this condition, you’re about to pass out.” Dean squinted up at Castiel, trying and ultimately failing to make his eyes focus on the figure in front of him. He could still make out the concerned frown on his face though.

 “I’m fine, just a little bruised and bleeding. And my head hurts too but--”

 “You’re probably incredibly concussed. How many of me can you see right now?”

 “One, Jesus Christ, just help me up would you?” Dean said irritably, struggling to push himself up into a sitting position.

 “Of course you’d say that… how many fingers am I holding up?”

 “Three?”

 “It was one. Do you feel nauseous? Are you drowsy, confused, seeing flashing lights?” Cas was running his mouth and getting himself all worked up with worry, and Dean couldn’t understand why the guy felt so responsible for his safety.

 “I don’t think so… just kinda dizzy,” Castiel hauled Dean up as slowly as possible and tried to lean him against the wall, but as soon as he was upright Dean briefly wavered on the spot before doubling over. Castiel looked down at the mess of vomit mixed with blood, as Dean narrowly avoided his shoes while he spewed up the entirety of his stomach.

 “You _have_ to get to a hospital, you probably have internal bleeding!”

 “No dude, I can’t be late. My dad will kill me.” He groaned, his throat raw with the effort of retching, and his head spinning and throbbing impossibly harder than it was before.

 “He won’t have to if you die first!” Despite how frenzied Castiel was quickly becoming, his voice remained low and steady and thrummed through Dean, keeping him from slipping into unconsciousness as its authority jolted him awake.

 Dean nodded and let Castiel slip his arm around his shoulders, carrying most of Dean’s weight with ease as he practically dragged Dean from the alley to the parking lot. He didn’t know why, but Dean hadn’t expected to be lowered into the passenger seat of Castiel’s car. All he could think about was how clean and shiny it was, and how dirty and bloody he was. Dean was about to swing his legs in and turn around when Castiel put a firm hand on his shoulder and told him to sit still, before disappearing. He reappeared a minute later with a little first aid kit in hand, and crouched down at Dean’s feet.

 “You’re awfully prepared – break up fist fights often, do you?”

 Castiel’s lips upturned in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but was a change to his usual blank expression or perplexed frown. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a packet of antiseptic wipes, tearing it open with his teeth. He went straight for the wound just above Dean’s eyebrow and dabbed at it, frown returning when Dean winced and clenched his fists.

 “Sorry.”

 Dean couldn’t stop looking. He wasn’t entirely sure that this was even happening; somehow he’d ended up being patched up by the same guy who crept on him most days. He’d managed to get through two and half years of high school without having met him as such, and suddenly Castiel was beating up guys for him. That in itself was crazy – the footballers didn’t really associate with the teams from other schools in the area, it prevented any additional hostility and it was always better to have an almost-civil relationship with them. It mainly meant less brawls breaking out on the field.

 Castiel had wiped the blood from Dean’s nose and split lip and was working on cleaning the raw grazes on his knuckles now, his concentration completely focused on the task in hand. Dean couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable now; he didn’t even know Castiel but he was feeling guilty for something he had no control over. There was probably going to be an all-out feud between the two schools now, and word would no doubt get out that Dean had been the origin.

 Castiel was up again and walking around to the other side of the car. Once he was inside, Dean repositioned himself and pulled the door shut. He knew that Castiel was right, and he was in no condition to even step foot in the driver’s seat of a vehicle, but all he wanted was to jump out and drive himself home. Wishful thinking aside, Castiel was already reversing out of the parking space and leaving the bar behind.

 “Where do you live?” Castiel’s voice boomed through the silence and shook Dean into alertness again. He told him the address, and went back to thinking about the odds of him really being in this guy’s car.

 “What were you doing in that alley?” Dean asked suspiciously, it was just so convenient, and Dean had no reason to believe in strokes of luck being actual things that happened. Not to him anyway.

 “I dropped my sister off at the bar, and I was about to leave when I saw those guys corner you.”

 Dean didn’t know Castiel had a sister, he’d just assumed he was another spoilt only-child. Then it hit Dean that he knew literally _nothing_ about Castiel. Sure, like everyone else at school, he thought he knew enough about him just by word of mouth and observation. Apparently though, he didn’t. He’d just entrusted his life to a near stranger – _great_.

 They didn’t talk much for the rest of the ride, and when Castiel pulled into the driveway Dean was quick to slip out of the car and make a dash for it. He may have underestimated the hindrance that came with being beaten to a pulp, and Castiel easily had enough time to get out and walk with him to the front door. Dean was digging through his jeans pocket to fumble with his keys when the door opened to reveal his father, stern expression in place.

 “You’re late.”

 “I know, sorry Dad.” Dean grumbled, shifting his weight from foot to foot, keeping his head down in an attempt to hide his face.

 “Dean, what happened?!” Dean’s mom was pushing John out of the way and tipping Dean’s chin up to get a better look at him, eyes wide with distress. Dean winced at the contact and batted her hand away, feeling a blush creep across his cheeks. “Who’s this?” She asked, inclining her head towards Castiel.

 “Castiel,” Dean answered, casting a quick glance over to him, “I got in a fight and he helped me get back.”

 “Oh my God,” Mary breathed, rubbing her eyes as she sighed. “Come on, get inside.”

 Dean did as he was told, but noticed Castiel hanging back awkwardly, a conflicting look of discomfort and warmth on his face.

 “Castiel?” He smiled at Mary in return and shook his head, his expression going blank again.

 “I can’t, I’ve already missed my curfew. I really have to get home.” He turned to leave, but paused and looked over his shoulder. “I hope Dean’s okay.”

 And with that he strode back to his car and drove off, leaving Dean standing in the doorway utterly bewildered, the brisk winter air blowing around him and soothing his cuts and bruises. 


	2. Chapter 2

By Monday, Dean’s cuts and grazes had given way to swollen scabs and the bruises were ripened purples and blues, making him stick out like a sore thumb. He’d already been harassed by the school counsellor, who was clearly only trying to find out if there was ‘trouble at home’, but he was cranky and aching and really couldn’t be blamed for snapping at her.

Dean tried to keep his head down in the halls to avoid any more questions from people he’d never spoken to, but the indiscrete whispers and poorly hushed tones around him indicated that it was a lost cause. He wasn’t overly phased by it; he’d been involved in his fair share of ‘scandal’ that would cause a stir on a drab Monday morning, but that was usually relating to who he’d pissed off at this party or slept with at another. This felt different though – most of the time not that many people actually gave a shit about what he did in his own time, but add a hefty amount of battle wounds into the mix and everyone’s interested.

He knew the worst of it was to come when he reached his locker and Pamela and Jo were already waiting for him there. Jo’s arms were folded across her chest and she definitely looked less than pleased, although Pamela looked suspiciously amused by the entire situation.

“What the hell happened to you?!” Jo’s voiced had reached a pitch that not even dogs could recognise, and she shoved Dean in the chest with a scowl.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter…”

Jo rolled her eyes, and mirroring his mother’s reaction from the other night – with a little less concern and a lot more irritation – she took Dean’s chin between her thumb and index finger to get a better look.

“Does this have anything to do with Castiel?” Pamela asked knowingly; Dean’s surprise allowed him to do nothing but gawp at her.

“Why would you think that?” Dean countered uncertainly, as if he wasn’t already aware that Pamela knew she was right.

“I saw him this morning and his knuckles were all bruised and cut up. And here you are; bruised and cut up too.” She raised her eyebrows at Dean, challenging him to deny the connection.

“He didn’t fight me.”

“I know.”

“Can we just, not talk about it?”

Just as Dean finally managed to push the two girls out of his way to yank his locker open, Ash decided to appear behind him and give him a friendly clap on the back, _hard_. Dean automatically hunched over in pain and winced at the bruises that were now throbbing on his shoulder blade. Jo was already piping up again, her genuine worry disguised as pure annoyance; but then the grumbling very quickly went silent. This in itself was unusual, especially since Dean hadn’t even lost his temper and told them to shut up yet.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean span around in such a hurry that his backpack slipped from his shoulder to the ground. Castiel was standing in front of him, with his friends parted like the Red Sea to watch the scene unfold.

“Hi.”

“How are you doing?” The sincerity in Castiel’s voice made Dean’s throat go dry, and he reached around for his bag on the floor before tipping his head at Castiel to follow him. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with an audience of his nosy friends. They walked down the hall side by side, Castiel trailing behind fractionally, until Dean stopped in a mostly-empty area and turned to face him.

“What do you want?” Dean asked stiffly. Castiel titled his head to the side a little, eyebrows pulled together in utter confusion.

“I just wanted to see that you were okay, no long-term damage or anything.”

Dean was trying really hard not to be a dick and cause a scene, but it was even harder for him to believe a word coming out of Castiel’s mouth. People didn’t do things like that, they didn’t put themselves in immediate danger to help someone they didn’t know, they didn’t check up on them afterwards. It didn’t happen.

“Right,” he scoffed, letting his audacity get the better of his common sense. “Why – why would you bother?”

“Because I’m not an awful human being?” Castiel was beginning to get flustered with irritation; Dean could see it in his reddening cheeks and the firmness of his voice as it gradually rose in volume. “Why are you questioning this?”

“Is this some elaborate plan you and your little friends have got going? I mean it’s a little weird that you’re all civil with Alastair when it suits you, and when I get in a fight with him you just happen to be there too. What is it? Help Alastair get back at me, and then get ‘ _my_ eternal gratitude and ass-kissing’ for ‘rescuing me’?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but then his expression changed to one of disappointment and pity more than anything. “I don’t know where you get the idea that I’m that twisted – that I would manipulate anyone for such a petty reason. And I know my friends can be--” he paused briefly, as though searching for the words. “Intimidating, but I’m not scheming against you with them. I don’t want anything from you.”

Castiel sighed and gave Dean another look, the kind that seemed as though he just felt sorry for him, and walked off in the opposite direction. Dean put his face in his hands, feeling uncomfortably as though his world had just been shaken around violently and wasn’t going to settle down again for some time.

 

  
****

 

After his last class of the day, Dean sat in his car while he waited for Sam to finish whatever club he was participating in today – the kid’s week was always crammed with extra-curricular activities. Dean usually used this time to hang out with Pam or Jo in the diner down the street, but Jo was working again and Pam had ‘business’ to attend to – code for smoking up with some guys in a rock band Dean had never heard of.

Instead, he tried to make the hour pass by getting a start on whatever homework was easiest – he knew he wouldn’t do it all at home, so he might as well make a start. It was either that or try taking a nap in a parking lot that was still bustling with noisy students.

Dean was fifteen minutes into an algebra worksheet and close to slamming his head on the steering wheel from an overload of repetitive quadratic equations when he walked past. His eyes only darted to the window for a second, but the view of Castiel shrugging into the beige trench coat was already in his line of sight. He watched as Castiel made his way down the main steps of the school, dark hair being pulled in all directions by the wind.

Dean quickly looked away and stared at his worksheet instead, trying to pretend he didn’t just see that. Part of the reason why he couldn’t concentrate in the first place was because no matter how hard he tried to stop it; Castiel kept sneaking into his mind with his creepy stare. Every five minutes he’d see a flash of blue eyes, the bright gleam of light reflected in their irises, watching him with something between interest and confusion.

Castiel paused at the foot of the steps, looking positively grim and downbeat. His stare seemed to search around a little before he checked his watch, and finally let his shoulders slump in discontent. Dean didn’t know what it was, but he felt like a weight had been dropped inside his chest as he watched. Seeing Castiel so miserable made him feel _wrong_ and he couldn’t supress the feeling of wanting to go over to him - it also made the guilt from how he’d treated Castiel earlier pull at his conscience insistently.  
When Dean pushed the car door open and stepped outside, he told himself that this was just in return for Castiel saving his ass several days before. But Dean didn't even know what this was as he walked up to stand in front of Castiel.

“Hey!”

Castiel didn’t reply to Dean, but his lips curved into a small but evident smile, and he seemed as though he was waiting for Dean to continue. Dean hadn’t exactly thought this situation through thoroughly. He ran his fingers through the short hair on the back of his head as he remembered that generally, you don’t accost someone out of blue without a reason. “You need a ride?”

Castiel’s smile smoothed out and left him expressionless, his gaze shifting away from Dean before finally responding. “I already have one. Thank you, though.”

Dean didn’t really want Castiel to think he’d come over here just to ask that – he didn’t want the guy to get the idea that he was building up to asking him on a date or anything. His brain went into overdrive as he tried to fabricate a reason as to why he was here – since in reality he didn’t actually have a solid one.

“So, uh…” Castiel’s eyes moved back to look straight at Dean, and he looked as though he was hearing something hugely interesting and infinitely more important than Dean could muster up. “I guess I, uh, should apologise about what I said earlier. I was kind of a dick and I, uh, I don’t think you’re twisted or scheming or anything.”

Dean almost thought that Castiel’s eyes lit up and brightened at his half-assed excuse of an apology, but decided it was just a trick of the light. He wasn’t exactly ready to admit to himself that he’d just been staring into another guy’s eyes – an aesthetically pleasing blue or not.

“Thanks, Dean.” Castiel shifted his weight from foot to foot briefly before starting to advance towards the car park, Dean automatically falling into step beside him. Abruptly, he came to a halt and began to finger-comb his unruly hair in a rush, as if such a feeble attempt would do anything to make it stay in one place.

Sighing, he turned to Dean again. “Honestly, I didn’t think you meant what you said, not really. I know I’m not your friend, but I do know that while you exude this tough guy image and act as though nothing and nobody can break you, you’re not really like that. You just want to protect yourself – it’s a self-defence thing.”

Castiel was frowning now, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge Dean’s raised eyebrows and shamelessly slacked jaw. He was at a loss as to how Castiel, a guy on the football team who exclusively associated with his family and pretentious, douchebag friends, was able to analyse him better than he ever could himself. Dean didn’t know whether to be intrigued or get into his car and drive as far away as possible.

“Castiel! Get a move on, I don’t have time for your loitering!” Castiel’s head whipped around to spot who the booming voice had come from, and he nodded hastily at him. He was a bald man in his fifties, with a haughty and condescending air about him, sitting inside a sleek Chrysler with the tinted window rolled down.

“Is that your dad?” Dean asked, glancing towards the man. Castiel looked at Dean for a few seconds, almost as if he was contemplating something, but just frowned and shook his head.

“No… he’s not, it’s complicated. I’m sorry, Dean, I have to leave.” But he was already walking away towards the black car where the man stood, directing a disdainful smirk in Dean’s direction. Dean looked on as the trench coat flapped in the air behind Castiel, and tried to bury the feeling that something was wrong with this picture as an engine started up and hummed out of earshot.

 

  
****

 

  
The next day, Dean was on time for study hall for possibly the first time in the entire school year – in fact, he was practically early. Upon entering the classroom, only a handful of students were already there, and even less were actually seated – Castiel being among them. He stopped short of his usual spot towards the back of the room and sank into the chair next to Castiel, only a few rows from the front.

“Dude, hey.”

Castiel’s face was close to resting on the desk as he carefully rewrote a much neater version of the slanted, scrawled notes in front of him. He had been focusing so intently on making the writing legible and error-free, that it took Dean’s voice to make him register he was not alone.

“Dean,” he looked up and stared curiously at Dean. “What are you doing here?”

“Well it is study hall, and I’m in this class so…”

“No, I mean, what are you doing here specifically?” Castiel craned his neck to look behind himself, scanning the mostly empty rows. “You always sit with Ash.” Dean quickly buried the warm buzz that formed in his stomach in response to Castiel actually paying enough attention to him to know where he sits – he wasn’t a fourteen year-old girl after all.

“He’s skipping – something about finishing some important coding, I don’t know, whatever the genius is up to this week,” Castiel’s eyebrows raised at this, whether in disbelief or awe, Dean couldn’t decide. “Besides, I, uh, wanted to sit with you today.”

Castiel gave a small smile at this, one that Dean wouldn’t even have registered had he not been studying his face so intently. Dean had come to notice that Castiel was prone to giving vague responses and had a permanent expression of indifference – except with some careful analysis, he could pick out hints of different emotions across his face.  
Castiel ducked his head down again and went back to copying out notes. His hair was looking particularly messy today, so much so that it was falling in his eyes and he had to push it back – he only made it worse though, and sighed in defeat. Not that Dean would admit to watching him anyway.

“So, uh, if that guy wasn’t your dad, who is he?” Dean asked cautiously, worried he might be stepping out of line. Castiel rolled his fountain pen between his fingers, and he seemed so far away that Dean was about to ask again.

“He’s my uncle.”

Castiel frowned and continued writing, but this time he kept stopping to chew on the end of his pen, before capping it and placing it on the desk carefully.  
“My dad’s not around anymore.”

He turned to look at Dean, but his frown just deepened and he looked entirely startled and puzzled and a little caught off guard. “Sorry, I don’t even know why I told you that…” His shoulders slumped and he sank down into his seat slightly, staring down at his feet.

“Look, I shouldn’t have asked; I mean it’s not really any of my business and-”

“No it’s fine. I just - it’s not a big deal I guess, he’s just gone. I don’t know where he is, he left a long time ago and now I live with my uncle.” Dean couldn’t help but feel like he’d struck a nerve - he’d never seen Castiel look unsettled in this way, fidgeting in his seat and chewing on his lip. Usually he was the poster boy for confidence and poise.

“Cas…”

“It’s fine.” he took his pen in his hand again and held it above the paper, ready to write, but instead he looked at Dean carefully with his head somewhat tilted to the side. “Did you just call me… Cas?” He said it as if the nickname was in a foreign language, something he’d never even heard of, as if he was trying out the word for the first time.

“Yeah, is that okay?” Dean hadn’t even realised that some people might not like their name to be shortened - he was so used to cutting down Joanna Beth, Pamela, and Asher into Jo, Pam, and Ash, that it hadn’t occurred to him. “It just slipped out, and Castiel is kind of a mouthful-”

Castiel smiled – a wider one this time, it reached his eyes and made his nose crinkle – and ducked his head again. “I like it.”

Dean felt the heat spreading in his stomach again and wasn’t really sure that was a normal thing, so spent the next five minutes trying to dispel it and push it down until Mr Turner walked in. He was a grumpy guy and jam-packed with attitude worse than Dean’s and his dad’s combined – something that should not be possible. So continuing to talk to Cas was out of the question, especially seeing as he’d officially buckled down and was unreachable again, so Dean took out the math homework he failed to finish yesterday and reluctantly set to work, knowing his chances of concentrating this time around were even slimmer.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had been spending a lot of time with Cas since the fight – or rather, Cas was spending a lot of time with Dean. It started with study hall; Dean would sit next to Cas every other day, and eventually Cas just started to migrate over to Dean and Ash. A week later, one of the guys from the football team slapped Pamela’s ass in the cafeteria and received a mouthful and a half from both Pam and Dean, before Castiel stepped in and scolded the guy with a threatening tone. He sat at Dean’s table that day, and since then he’d been dividing his lunches and free time between Dean and his friends from the team.

It went on like that for over a month, and gradually Castiel started to spend more and more time with Dean, Jo, Pamela, and Ash. There’d always be the days when he’d go back to his old table at lunch, but whenever Dean looked over, Cas’ face was expressionless as everyone jostled and joked around him. Dean had never noticed the way Cas fit into that group before; he was only ever concerned about why Cas stared at him so much. But now he could clearly see that Castiel stood out like a sore thumb – and Dean wondered if he’d been the one to make that more pronounced. 

It was an awful, grey, wet Monday when Dean found out more about this. Jo slammed her tray down on the table and grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt. 

“Please tell me you did the Physics homework!” She asked desperately, eyes flitting across Dean’s face as she waited impatiently for an answer. 

“No – no, you are _not_ copying from me again!” 

“I will punch you in the face if you do not help me right now, Winchester.”

Dean grumbled an agreement, knowing full well that his AC/DC shirt and physical health depended on it. Jo smiled sweetly, and shoved her work into Dean’s lap and started on her fries. 

Even after Dean finished her homework, Jo was still slumped over and moping with her books spread out across any clear surface of the table. “I’m so behind right now, I think I might actually die. Either that, or I’m going to be killed.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and scanned the books and notes in front of them, looking to see if there was anything else he could help with. All he could see was a mesh of Spanish, Geography, and English. “Which one needs to be in first?” 

“English.” She groaned, letting her head fall to her tray in defeat. 

Castiel straightened up at this, craning his neck to make sense of the papers strewn everywhere. “Is your class reading Lord of the Flies right now?” Jo grunted in response, which Cas took as a yes, and he grinned. “I can help – I’m reading it too and it’s pretty simple.” 

Jo just looked up at him with a pleading face of exhaustion and charm, not even having to whine to get Cas to ask what the assignment was. Dean watched Cas pull the book towards him and instantly start writing, only pausing to copy down quotes from the text. Just before lunch came to an end, Cas had written a full essay – and a better quality one than Dean could write over _days_. 

They left the cafeteria for class, Jo scampering off with a slightly less anxious demeanour than before. Dean wasn’t going to say anything, but he couldn’t bear to keep his mouth shut this time. 

“So you’re really smart, like, crazy smart.”

“Uh --” 

“I mean that should have been impossible, what you just did, but you did it effortlessly.” Castiel was frowning at him now, a confused expression on his face. “Which is weird.” 

“Did you think I was stupid?” He asked, head tilting to one side as if he was both genuinely puzzled and offended.

“No! Well – I mean, it’s just, football players don’t necessarily have a reputation for being freakin’ geniuses.” 

“I’m not a genius – besides, I’m pretty sure you and Ash are competing for the highest marks in Physics out of our entire grade.” Cas stopped in the hallway and shifted around on the spot, and it looked like he was searching for an escape. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re always downplaying how smart you are?” Dean raised his eyebrows at Cas, challenging him to deny it, but Dean knew he was right on this one.

“It’s not ‘cool’ to be really smart I guess, I don’t know, the team tease me about it because I like my classes. But some of them are just pretending to be dumber than they are – especially the girls. I think they do it so they can catch people off guard, so nobody expects them to be clever but then they blow everyone away.” 

Dean scoffed and placed his hand on Cas’ shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “That’s really stupid, and I’m pretty sure you know that. So just let your nerd run free, okay?” 

Dean’s grin was infectious, and it grew as he saw a small smile stretch on Castiel’s lips because of it. 

 

********

 

“So what music do you listen to?” 

Castiel looked up from the pile of history notes balancing on his lap – Dean had talked Cas into skipping study hall, but here there were, sitting in the basement level of the stairwell next to the workshop rooms, and Cas was still studying. 

“A lot of different stuff.” He shrugged, and dropped his head back down again. Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed the sheets of writing, placing them next to him and out of Cas’ reach. 

“Like _what_?” 

Castiel scowled and narrowed his eyes, but his shoulders sagged in defeat anyway. “Indie and alternative rock – I like Jimmy Eat World a lot. Classical music too, film scores – the Lord of The Rings one is particularly good – oh, and my dad’s old records.” 

“What records does he have?” Dean’s interest was visibly peaked; he leant forward with an excited brightness to his eyes and waited for Cas’ reply. Cas couldn’t help but smile a little. 

“Uh, Led Zeppelin, T-Rex, Pink Floyd--” 

“Holy shit, what else?”

“If I tell you that you can come over after school and see for yourself, will you let me study for my history test?” Cas sighed, and Dean nodded as he handed back the notes with a smug grin. 

They met at the front of school after their last classes, and stood in a flurry of falling snow arguing quietly. Cas refused to let Dean drive them to his house; the snow was settling already and the roads would be gridlocked. Dean firmly reasoned that there was no way he was leaving his car at school just so they could walk a few miles in freezing weather.

Cas won out, and Dean had to agree that the Impala wouldn’t disappear or disintegrate by the time he went to pick it up later that evening. It didn’t mean that Dean had to _enjoy_ that decision though. 

It really wasn’t even that bad; Dean crunched through the thin layer of snow that was building up, watching Castiel push his bike and open his mouth wide to catch snowflakes on his tongue. Dean’s feet were already going cold though, and he wondered whether Castiel’s were already numb inside of his sodden converse. 

“You are a child.” Dean said when Cas almost ran his bike into a lamppost because he was too busy eating snow. 

“Everyone is a child when it snows.” And he looked at Dean warmly, a flicker of light in the mass of greys and whites and bitter cold that surrounded them. Dean found himself watching the way snowflakes got caught in Cas’ eyelashes, clung to the tips of his hair, peppered the team letterman jacket that he’d stupidly decided to wear today of all days. 

Even when Dean realised how long he’d been staring for, Cas was still looking back intently. Until Dean pelted a snowball at the centre of his chest and he instinctively recoiled from the sting of the impact.

“What was that for?” Cas whined, trying to brush the snow off his t-shirt. The damp spot stuck to his skin and he pinched it away, groaning at how much colder it made the air feel. 

“You’re right – snow turns people into kids.” Dean smirked, trying to hold in a snort of laughter. But just as he opened his mouth to let it out, Cas threw a snowball right back and hit him square in the face. The snow slid down his neck and under his collar, and Dean squirmed as it melted and the icy water dripped down. 

Dean shook his head and smiled crookedly at Cas, knowing that this was heading nowhere pleasant. If someone attacked Dean, he didn’t stop until he either passed out or the other person begged for mercy. And since this usually applied to Sam, there hadn’t been all that many times when Dean had ended up unconscious. 

Dean scooped up two handfuls of snow and launched them at Cas, instantly crouching back down to get more and keep the throws coming. Cas tried to dodge them, but steadying his bike with one hand stopped him both from being able to defend himself and retaliate. 

“Dean, quit it!” It was wishful thinking for Cas to ask, and Dean just shoved snow down the back of his shirt instead.

Cas put his bike on the ground and advanced on Dean, trying to get as much snow down the collar of his leather jacket as possible, before resorting to wrestling him to the ground. They ended up sprawled on the edge of somebody’s front yard, where the snow had built up into a thick blanket from the past few days and hadn’t been dug away or gritted. Cas pinned Dean on his back and sat on top of him to keep him firmly pressed against the snow, the cold wetness seeping through his jeans already.

Cas reached over to his side to make another snowball, but Dean took the opportunity to flip them over and push Cas facedown into the ground. They continued on like that for a good ten minutes, wrestling inelegantly and slapping each other like eight-year-old girls, until a middle-aged woman came out and told them to get the hell off her property. Cas picked his bike back up, and they walked the rest of the way in the giddy kind of contentedness that snow always ended up causing. 

Neither of them could feel their fingers, toes, or ears when they walked up the driveway. Cas’ hair was so damp that it managed to lie flat for once, and was sticking to his forehead. Dean was tempted to tell him to get it cut, because the front of his hair was falling into his eyes and making him look a little too nineties grunge. 

“This is your house?” Dean asked, eyes falling on the large building at the end of the gravel driveway. Cas nodded, and let Dean continue to take in the mass of windows, garage doors, and a perfectly kept front yard. Even the porch looked expensive: set atop a few steps with a swing seat hanging from its roof.

Castiel brought his bike up and leaned it against the fence of the porch, before unlocking the front door and instantly slipping out of his shoes and jacket. Dean followed him in and did the same, trying to control the shakes that vibrated through his body. 

“Give me your coat and shoes,” Cas ordered, holding his hand out expectantly, “I’ll put them in the airing cupboard to dry.” Dean passed them over, and when the tips of their fingers brushed he was surprised at how warm they felt. Cas’ nose and cheeks were red with the cold air and his teeth chattered, but his touch was like a poker. 

“Why do you feel so warm?” Dean mumbled, shoving his hands under his armpits to warm them up.

“You’re just colder than I am, it’s relative.” 

Dean took the chance to get a good look around; the house didn’t even seem real. They were standing in a foyer that was void of anything but a circular glass table in the centre, topped with a vase of extravagant flowers, and a wide staircase that wound around one side. The arched windows extended from almost floor to ceiling and they bathed the entire room in light, rendering the extravagant chandelier mostly useless. 

“Wow, you’re even more loaded than I thought.” 

Castiel gave him a sour look and narrowed his eyes. “Why does everyone always say that like it’s a bad thing – it’s just my family, it’s normal for me.” He headed towards the staircase, his wet socks leaving a trail of footprints in his wake, and Dean followed behind. 

“It’s not normal.” Dean wasn’t purposely trying to be mean, but it _wasn’t_ normal. He’d been to plenty of houses in their area, and only Gabriel’s was anything like this. It was no secret that the two of them lived on the expensive side of town, but it was just so much _more_ than Dean had expected. Unlike his friends though, Cas didn’t flaunt his money, and it made Dean forget about it. 

His room was right at the end of the hallway, and Dean was preparing himself for more chandeliers and Persian rugs and original paintings in gold frames. But when he stepped inside, it was quite the opposite. For starters, Cas’ room wasn’t all that big – it was actually a similar size to Dean’s. It did look bigger though, mainly because he just didn’t have much stuff. Dean’s bedroom was cluttered with stray clothes and books and car parts and cassette tapes, but Cas’ was almost empty. 

There was a double bed in the far corner, pushed up against the wall with a series of windows next to it. The windowsills were lined with books slotted together like a puzzle; with no apparent order to the way they were arranged, and thin white curtains hung over the glass (although Dean couldn’t imagine them doing a great job of blocking out any sunlight). A battered looking astronomy poster was pinned to the wall, its corners dog-eared and tatty but not enough to obscure the diagrams of constellations. On the ceiling there were plastic stars that looked at though they’d glow in the dark, and Dean couldn’t tell if there was any order to them either, but they seemed to be concentrated above the bed. 

Cas had left Dean there to sift around as he disappeared down the hall to put their things in the airing cupboard, and came back to find Dean sitting on the floor in front of his bedside table. The record player sat atop it, and the space underneath was filled with records. Dean was flipping through them, occasionally slipping one out to look at the album sleeve properly. 

“Those are mine – the ones in the box are my dad’s.” Cas went over to sit on the bed and watch Dean go through everything. It was then that he noticed Dean’s fingers trembling as he put the Jimmy Eat World record back on the shelf. Dean flinched as Cas grabbed his wrist and laid his palm over Dean’s own hand. 

“What are you doing?” Dean shuddered at the warm touch, and his entire body shook with it. His toes still felt numb and his jaw was clenched to stop his teeth chattering. 

“Dean, you’re freezing.” Castiel got up and crossed the room to a chest of drawers, pulling out a pair of sweatpants, socks and a thick Henley shirt. “Put these on, and I’ll put the rest of your stuff in the dryer.” Dean did as he was told, too cold to even think about arguing, and stripped out of his soaking wet clothes. “There’s a fireplace downstairs, you should probably warm up.” 

“What about the records?” 

Cas rolled his eyes and picked up the silver record case that held his dad’s collection, snatching Dean’s clothes up in the other hand. Dean walked beside him as they descended the stairs and crossed through the foyer into the living room. It made Cas’ bedroom look even more isolated and out of place, with its expansive leather sofas and polished coffee tables. Oversized mirrors hung on the walls, an antique-looking grandfather clock stood in the corner, and ornaments adorned almost every surface. In another corner though, was an even older record player. 

The fire was already lit, and Dean instantly went to sit right in front of it, the heat pouring onto his face and chest. He stared at the flames licking at the wood in front of him, a crackling coming through the speakers before he recognized the intro to Whole Lotta Love. Castiel sat down next to him with his legs crossed, and didn’t speak until the next song was already a minute in. 

“I didn’t really know anything about these bands, I just knew my dad had the records and when he left, I kept them because I thought he’d want them when he came back. And then at the beginning of the school year, I saw you wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and I recognised the name.” 

Dean turned to look at Cas, half of his face cast in a shadow, the other glowing orange with the light of the fire. Castiel folded his hands in his lap, and continued looking forwards; taking no notice of the way Dean was now watching him.

“So I got the records out and I started listening to all of them, and I don’t know - they just feel important.” 

“That’s because some of these _are_ the most important bands ever, Cas.” Dean grinned, trying to lighten what had become a sullen atmosphere. Castiel smiled and shot Dean a fond look. “Jesus, I’m about to give you a free education in what is golden in the world of music.” 

Castiel just leant back on his hands and prepared himself for the inevitable.

 

********

 

When Dean got home it was eerily quiet, not a sound ricocheting through the house. The rareness of this made Dean’s skin crawl a little, and he made a beeline for the kitchen. His mother was sitting at the table with files for work spread out before her, a glass a whiskey next to her.

“Everything okay, Mom?” Dean asked carefully; if she was already on the hard stuff this early in the week, something was clearly up. She turned around in her seat to glance at him, giving him a small smile. 

“Ask your father.” She answered bitterly, turning away again. Dean sighed, knowing better than to get in the middle of this. His parents were pretty smitten as far as long-married couples went, but they were both too strong-willed and stubborn _not_ to have arguments erupt now and again. 

Dean couldn’t decide which he hated more – when his parents were giving each other the silent treatment, or when they were trying to out-scream each other. Sam, however, had a clear preference. He’d always hated the shouting, ever since he was a kid, and Dean used to usher him into his own bedroom and let Sam get into his bed to wait it out. As Sam got older and stopped needing to be pressed against Dean to stay calm throughout it, Dean would give him all the distractions he could think of: video games, ghost stories, playing him all his tapes.

It was just after dinner that the shouting started; and Dean automatically went down the hall to Sam’s room. He was sitting on the floor with headphones on, a chemistry textbook abandoned next to him. He pulled the headphones off when he noticed Dean come in, and gave him an exasperated look.  

“I can still hear them over the music – I can’t even concentrate to do my homework.” 

“Let’s get out of here for a while, they’re driving me nuts. We’ll get burgers and head out to the lake, how does that sound?”

Sam deliberated it for a minute, probably weighing up whether his sanity or his homework was more important, but nodded anyway. Dean went over to Sam’s desk to write a note on a post-it; their absence would probably go undetected judging by the scale of the argument going on, but it wasn’t worth risking his dad’s rage. He scribbled down a short explanation, and stuck it to the outside of Sam’s door before grabbing his coat. 

They slipped out of the house effortlessly, and even the roar of the Impala’s engine didn’t have the door flying open to reveal John, probably red in the face. As promised, they picked up burgers and fries on the way, and Dean drove further away from town. There was a decent sized lake hidden by a thick wood of trees a little way away, and as a family they’d spent a large chunk of their lives there. 

Their family-friend, Bobby, had a house on the lake with his wife, and had been inviting the Winchesters down there for as long as Dean could remember. Countless summer days were spent running through the trees and swinging from branches, or eating hotdogs from the barbecue and splashing around in the water. The year before, Bobby’s wife had died and he couldn’t stand to live there anymore, the place becoming a mausoleum to him. So he moved away to Sioux Falls to save himself the misery, and asked Dean to check up on the house every so often. Bobby couldn’t talk himself into selling it, but it would kill him to see the place rot away. 

Dean and Sam would still come down, but their parents had stopped coming with them; either they thought the boys were too old for it or they felt weird about going without Bobby. Dean suspected it was a cross between the two. The lake was like a safe haven for Dean; nothing there ever changed, it was always waiting for him to wade through the trees and forget his life. 

Dean had used the lake to run away from almost all of his problems of late; namely when Cassie broke up with him last year. He spent far too much time cooped up in the house with Bobby’s bizarre old books – by the time he got out of his funk, he was heavily educated on creepy myths and legends about all sorts of monsters and creatures. 

Dean drove up the well-concealed dirt track into the woods and parked the car, Sam jumping out almost immediately. The way to the lake was ingrained into their brains, and Sam and Dean could probably walk it with their eyes closed, so the darkening of the sky did nothing to deter them. They walked quickly to get to the house, desperate to be out of the cold and back in the warm familiarity of the wooden cabin. 

There was a crescent of sand around one side of the lake, and the house was built right up to the water’s edge on the other side. It was a modest size, consisting of a living room, bedroom, and kitchen on the lower floor, and a cosy attic space that served as a guest room. In the autumn, when the leaves on the some of the surrounding trees would become varying shades of gold and orange, the honey-coloured wood of the house looked nothing short of perfect. There was a small porch on one side, and Dean had spent several summers sitting on the edge of it with his dad and Bobby, feet dangling above the water as they held out fishing rods. 

Sam was the one to shove his hand underneath the doormat to retrieve the spare key, and couldn’t unlock the door fast enough. As soon as they were inside Dean was trying to light the fire in the living room, not seeing the point in switching the heating on for just this evening. Sam settled into Bobby’s armchair and brought his knees up to his chest - a privilege that Dean only allowed Sam at times like this, since the armchair had unofficially become ‘his’ seat.

They would go back home in a few hours, after their parents had had enough time to scream it out and make up again; either that or they would forget about the fight entirely when they realised their children had disappeared. Dean couldn’t blame them, and as always he told Sam not to do so either. Dean knew his parents loved each other to death, but there was no way two people that fiery could have a perfect, sugary relationship all the time. Dean’s chest tightened when Sam said he hoped Dean would find someone that makes him as happy as Mary and John are _most_ of the time. 

“Come on, Sammy, no chick-flick moments.” He grumbled, wanting to sink into the couch until it swallowed him. 

“Jerk.” 

“Bitch.”

Dean thought about how he could never tire of exchanging those words with looks of absolute fondness on their faces, even if Sam was _the_ sappiest little brother to exist, ever. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some brief dean/anna in this chapter~

Some time between Dean rooting through his locker for books and slamming the door, Castiel had materialised on the other side. Dean wondered what the odds were that he’d eventually keel over from a heart attack because of Cas’ creepiness.

“What’s up, Cas?” 

“I need to ask you something.” 

“Dude, is everything okay?” Cas was bouncing on his heels and had his hands shoved deep inside his pockets – nervous tick. Dean instantly prepared himself for the worst; calm and collected Castiel looking like a deer caught in headlights could never be a good thing. 

“Yeah, yeah um, Michael is having this party tonight and he said you should come because he wants to meet you now I guess and--” Castiel paused to take a breath, his words bleeding into each other to make everything coming out of his mouth a blur. “And well, I want you to come too because we’re friends – right – and they’re my friends too and I just want them to see that you’re pretty cool, and stuff.” 

Dean looked at Castiel – now a fidgety mess – and couldn’t stop himself from laughing at what just happened. If Cas was like this now, Dean dreaded to think what he was like when he asked out girls. 

“That’s it?” Cas nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Jesus Christ, I thought it was something _bad_. Like, your friends were planning to tear my throat out or something.”

“ _So_?”

“I don’t know, Cas… those guys don’t exactly like me, you know? And I don’t want to feel out of place there--” 

“You won’t,” Castiel was looking sheepish as he pulled on the straps of his backpack. “I’ll be there.” 

“Fine, but I’m coming over before and we’re going together!” Cas smiled a little at this, and didn’t even wipe it away as Ash came scuttling over. He wedged himself in the space between Dean and Cas and looked from one to the other, eyes narrowed. 

“My intuition tells me you were talking about a party.” Dean scoffed and shoved Ash aside lightly, Castiel looking plain confused. “Come on, seriously, you can’t get a party past me. Whose is it?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and slung his bag over one shoulder. “Just a bunch of rich kids – we’ll probably be drinking scotch and listening to classical music, while the rebels sneak off to play charades.” Dean couldn’t help but grin at Cas’ sour expression and the glare that was directed at him. Castiel was so easy to rub the wrong way, and Dean usually had to restrain himself from doing it _all_ the time, not matter how amusing Cas’ scrunched up face of irritation was. “Honestly, Ash, it’s not your thing. I bet there won’t even play any classic rock for the entire night.” 

Ash clasped his hands over his chest and gasped, as though the very thought physically pained him – and Dean didn’t even doubt the possibility of this. The warning bell rang and Dean and Ash headed down the hall for their physics class, Cas tagging along until he would have to go to English.

“Anyway, I’m working on a new project,” Ash started, before biting his lip and turning to Cas. “Sorry dude, top secret stuff, gotta keep it on a need-to-know basis.” He turned back to Dean, who could almost hear the cogs turning in Ash’s brain as he tried to be ambiguous. “So, uh, I need some mechanical engineering help, which is your area.” 

Dean was in the midst of replying when they were faced head-on with Meg. He stopped mid-sentence to hopefully glare her out of the way, but she continued to block their path with a saccharine smirk and hips cocked to one side.

“Hey, Castiel.” Dean wanted to retch at the slow drawl of her voice, dripping with flirtation and suggestion.  

The last time Dean had seen her was before the Christmas break, and she’d undergone a complete change since then. She’d gone from looking sickly sweet with a blonde bob, to devious and contrastingly pale against the now longer, dark brown hair. Dean was sure that this was nothing good; she still seemed as suspicious as ever, ready to manipulate and torment everyone around her. 

Cas said nothing, just frowned at Meg as if he was personally affronted at being addressed by her. Dean looked between them, eyes flitting irritably as a pause stretched out. 

“I see you’ve flown the nest of those rich, bratty kids – but you’re wasting your time with little Dean-o here.” Dean scoffed, only to get a pout of Meg’s lips blowing him a kiss in return. “If you ever wanna have some _real_ fun, I’ll be around.” She gave Castiel a slow smile before stepping around them all and carrying on down the hall. Nobody moved to take a step forward; they just stood there in a stunned daze. 

“What just happened?” Ash squinted at Cas, as if any of them actually had the slightest idea.

“I think Meg Masters just propositioned me.” 

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation and rolled his eyes. His entire life was ridiculous.

********

 

Dean thought Michael’s party would be worse, and while it wasn’t his usual thing, it wasn’t _horrible_. There were ice buckets filled with beers, and a table laden with other drinks. The music was loud, but the songs were all big radio hits that Dean couldn’t stand to listen to and barely knew anyway. Castiel stayed true to his word and mostly stuck to Dean’s side, introducing him to all his friends from the team and their respective girlfriends. It was uncomfortable, both of them could see that; Dean felt like a trophy wife and Cas was jittery. 

All in all, Dean was fine with staying for as long as Castiel wanted, until Crowley came through the door. Dean didn’t even know what he was doing there; he didn’t run in any of the same circles as these people – they were in polar-opposite circles, actually. Dean assumed it was a money thing – rich kids sticking together and all that; their families probably had some kind of alliance or agreement.

Dean wasn’t keen on being in such close proximity of Crowley – like Meg, he and Dean had come across each other in the past, and it never ended well. He’d pushed Sam around a little when they were younger, and after Dean punched him in the stomach they’d never rekindled any pleasant feelings towards each other. 

Crowley sauntered over, clad in yet another overpriced suit, and gave Castiel a solid slap on the ass before standing next to him. Dean didn’t miss the smirk that was plastered across Crowley’s face, nor the wink that he sent Castiel’s way. Dean wasn’t sure when his fists had balled up, but he quickly uncurled them and flexed out his fingers. A dark blush had quickly reddened Castiel’s cheeks, and the sight of this made something in Dean inexplicably snap. 

“So what, are you two butt-buddies or something?” Dean had intended for it to come out as light and humorous, but instead his words were coated in venom and an accusatory tone. Crowley just snorted, while Cas stiffened and looked away from Dean.

“I prefer the term friends with benefits, actually.” But Crowley was already slipping away into the throng of people before Dean could respond, leaving him in a state of utter perplexity. It was only when Dean saw Cas’ tight lipped frown that he realised Crowley wasn’t joking in the slightest – and Cas was irked. 

Dean tipped his head back and downed the remainder of his beer before asking his next question. “So uh, are you… gay?”

 Cas rolled his eyes and turned away, walking off with Dean trailing behind like a lost puppy. “No, I’m not.”

“So you’re bi, then?” Cas came to a halt and span around to face Dean, managing to look totally exasperated and sympathetic at the same time. Castiel was good at crossbreeding emotions, Dean thought. 

“I’m not anything,” he took one look at Dean’s confused stare and dragged him into an empty hallway that was free of prying eyes and ears. “Look Dean, it’s a miracle of sorts when I find myself actually attracted to someone, so I’m not going to waste that rarity just because other people want me to have a preference, or give it a name. Honestly – I’ll take what I can get.”

Cas turned to Dean and his lips twitched upwards into what could pass for a smile – but saw straight through it. There was no mistaking the bitterness that kept the smile from reaching his eyes; Dean dared to look into them, meeting waves of melancholy swimming in blue. He was tired, Dean could see that, but there was also an age-old sadness that seemed to seep out of Castiel’s eyes. 

“You shouldn’t think like that…” Dean had a strong sense that they were dangerously close to a _very_ chick-flick moment, in which they extensively analysed one another’s feelings. He pinched the bridge of his nose and carried on regardless. “You are totally weird and creepy a lot of the time, but you’re so much better than that. I mean, being with someone is like, I don’t know, a really personal thing. You don’t just give that privilege to whoever comes knocking.” 

“Right.” Cas looked at him with a something between amusement and concern, eyebrows raised but mouth set in a firm line. “Maybe you should try taking your own advice, Dean.” Cas said sombrely, before disappearing back into the living room, leaving Dean slumped in the corner of the dark hallway, _alone._

And that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Cas had delivered him a punch to the gut with that last observation, he’d already picked Dean apart and seen through the pretence, and then he just left. Like it was nothing, like _Dean_ was nothing. Dean didn’t want Cas to become part the ever on-going problem in his life – the problem being that everyone left. Bobby had gone, Cassie had gone, his dad had even left on occasion. Sure he had Jo, Pamela, and Ash – but he was always dragging them into his messes, so it was only a matter of time until they too packed up and walked out of his life. Or at least, that’s how everything seemed to Dean. He even worried about how long Sammy would last. He was fully aware that Sam loved him through and through, but Dean knew his brother incredibly well, and could see that he wanted to get out of this town eventually.

            Sam used to talk about it sometimes, his big dream of going to a fancy college in some faraway state where things were better and brighter than here. Sam was only fantasising out loud – but he failed to realise that every time he gushed about law school or Stanford he would make Dean’s stomach sink and his throat constrict. Recently though, John had scolded Sam about how ridiculous it was to be planning an entire future away from home, before he’d even started high school. After that, Sam had stopped talking about it and Dean knew that his father shared his fears. 

Dean loved his brother more than anything in the world, but he resented Sam’s eagerness to leave and the nonchalance that he treated the subject with. But he was so terrified that his resentment would fester and drive Sam away even faster.

When Dean came around and pulled his mind back to reality he found himself crumpled on the floor against the wall. He tried to swallow down the wave of nausea that had risen and settled in his throat, and put his head between his knees to keep it at bay. He hated thinking about these things, and wanted to kick himself for thinking about it here of all places. He’d been drinking – and it always felt so much worse when he did – but wasn’t drunk enough to drown those feelings of despair and helplessness, to hide them away for another day.

“Hey, bucko!”

 Dean reluctantly lifted his head and was greeted by Gabriel’s giddy smirk and condescending voice.

“Oh man, you look like you could use a few drinks.” 

“Sounds great.” Dean hauled himself up off the ground and followed Gabriel into the kitchen, where thankfully the crowd had dispersed and left it mostly empty. Dean sank down into a stool at the island and paid little attention to Gabriel flinging open cupboard doors and haphazardly searching through them. 

“So I’m guessing you want something stronger than beer?” By this point Gabriel was kneeling on the kitchen counter to peer inside of the top shelve that seemed to home a selection of various spirits.

 “Bingo.” 

Gabriel – ever the sympathetic one – just shot him another smirk. 

“What about vodka?” 

Dean’s stomach twisted at the thought, he only resorted to vodka when he intended on getting very drunk, very quickly. And while that was the general aim, he wanted something he could stand to drink for more than a couple chugs and wouldn’t leave him kneeling over the toilet bowl later. 

“Nah, anything else?"

“Yeah, doesn’t agree with me either – too bitter, not enough flavour.” As Gabriel shuffled bottles around in the cupboard, Dean pondered the possibility that Gabriel could read his mind. He seemed to know exactly what Dean wanted tonight, and was maybe a little too accurate. He flinched when Gabriel materialised next to him and slammed a bottle of whiskey on the counter in front of him. “This shit is expensive, probably aged to perfection. Don’t be an idiot – if Michael catches you with that he’ll definitely kill you.”

Dean nodded and quickly unscrewed the cap, wasting no time in swigging straight from the bottle. He savoured the instant burn that slipped down his throat, the sweet tang easing it down and stopping him from spluttering everywhere. This was the perfect remedy, Dean thought, the fiery sensation distracting him entirely from his worries. He didn’t even notice Gabriel staring him down with his arms folded and eyebrows raised. 

“Dear God, at least use a glass! That whiskey deserves some respect, kid.” He slid one across the countertop to Dean, who almost let it slip out of his fingers’ grip.

“I’m not a kid, douchebag.” Gabriel just scoffed and pointed a finger at Dean.

“If you’re younger than me – you’re a kid.” Dean rolled his eyes; Gabriel was only a year older than he was. He poured a glass and downed it in one, trying to focus on the warmth in this throat instead of the troubled weight in his gut. 

He wondered how long it would take to finish the bottle. 

Not very long – it turned out. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later and he was begging Gabriel to find him some more. Who, of course, didn’t want to take responsibility for a very drunk high-schooler, so passed him a small bottle of Jack Daniels before making a swift exit. 

Dean had barely broken into the Jack before he felt a strong need for fresh air. At first the warmth that took over his body was comforting and almost healing, but now it felt suffocating and uncomfortable, like being wrapped in a sheet so tightly that he couldn’t move his limbs an inch. He went to stand up, knees momentarily buckling underneath him, and grabbed onto the island until he could get used to his weight again.

When his head stopped spinning, Dean pushed himself away and stumbled through the house in search of a door that would lead outside. The place was too big and he was too hammered, couldn’t even remember where he and Cas had come in at the beginning of the night. _Cas._ Dean tried to mentally weigh up which was more important to him in that moment – a crisp breeze from outside or Castiel. He dug around in his pocket for a coin but as soon as he wriggled it free it dropped onto the floor, and no way in hell was Dean bending down in this state for _that_. He decided he’d look for both and stick with whatever came up first - which happened to be neither of the two. 

He was trying to manoeuvre himself through people, worming his way in and out of the groups without as little disruption as he could manage. His idea of disruption compared to everyone else’s seemed to be very different though, which was demonstrated when he flattened a girl to the ground. Dean tried to extract himself from their heap on the floor, but his knees and elbows kept digging into the girl as he scrambled to get up. In the end she just pushed his chest up and wriggled out, grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him up as well. 

Dean stood face to face with pale skin, big blue eyes, and very contrasting crimson hair. She was grumbling with complaints about something or another, Dean wasn’t really listening, he was having too much of a hard time taking his eyes off the bright shade of her hair – it was more than distracting. 

“Oh, you’re Castiel’s… friend. Right?” This got through to Dean, and he blinked a few times as he forced himself to look at her face. 

“Huh?” 

“Castiel – he talks about you a lot. You _are_ Dean Winchester?” He nodded and watched as her lips curled into a wide smile, or smirk, he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. She asked him another question and he nodded, not even knowing what he was agreeing to. She took his hand and dragged him back to the middle of the room where the crowd was densest, forcing them so close together that their chests were almost touching. She pressed closer against him still, shifting to move Dean’s thigh between hers as she left subtly in the gutter and ground her hips into him. 

He remembered who she was now; he’d seen her sitting at Cas’ lunch table most days, and sometimes she’d sit with a group of other girls. He didn’t even know her name, which was probably something to be ashamed of, but he couldn’t muster it up. Besides, he figured it would be rude to ask when she was already trying pretty hard to give him a boner, so he just laid his hands on her hips and went along with it. 

“You don’t seem very happy, do you?” She said gently, lips just below Dean’s earlobe as she spoke. He frowned at her, wondering how she could possibly know about the episode he’d had earlier - or was still having. He shrugged in response and tried to bury his gloom in the curves of her body. “Well, the night isn’t going to last forever, so how about we fix that?” 

Dean let her stretch up to reach his lips, let her kiss him softly at first with no real conviction until she pushed her tongue in his mouth. He wondered whether this was a good idea – he was beyond the realm of drunk and lacking any moral compass whatsoever – but then he remembered his motto of fill the void with whatever you can. So he complied effortlessly when she pulled him closer still, draping her arms around his neck. 

Dean didn’t know how long they stayed like that for, but there was a change in the atmosphere as she tugged at his arm and grinned up at him, pulling him out of the crowded room. Dean had an idea where this was going – more than an idea, actually – before she proved him right by clumsily heading upstairs. Dean didn’t even feel like his mind was fully connected to his body; he watched the scenery change and a door open and close, and heard the click of a lock and the creak of a mattress. But he didn’t feel like it was happening to him, it was as though he was looking through a veil of mist, making everything hazy and hard to keep up with.

It all jolted back into focus a little more after Anna pushed him back on the bed. Dean let her do whatever she wanted; she was stripping his shirt off and kissing his lips and running her hands over planes of bare skin. Dean was surprisingly hard – an achievement in itself considering the rest of his limbs were barely functioning – and trying to keep up. He blearily registered Anna sitting up to reposition herself in his lap, all of their clothes now in a heap on the floor. He pressed his fingers into the soft flesh of Anna’s body as she moved above him, trying to keep himself grounded and in the moment, but his head only filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and hushed moans. 

It wasn’t sentimental in the least. The sex may have been slow and tender – and a little clumsy in places – but there was no confusing what just happened. Anna picked herself up and rolled off the bed, wasting no time in putting her clothes back on. Dean’s head felt even foggier now, albeit vaguely lighter as well. He shoved his clothes on in a hurry; his t-shirt was inside out and he was still buckling his belt as he and Anna descended the stairs. 

“What – what just happened?” Dean looked up and saw Castiel standing at the bottom of the stairs, a deep frown embedded in his forehead. “Did you --” Cas wasn’t usually one to be speechless, but even Dean picked up on the way his mouth opened and closed silently. 

“I’m gonna go.” Anna leant over and pressed her lips to Dean’s, before disappearing into another room with no explanation. Dean continued down the last couple of steps so that he was level with Cas, who looked mostly confused, but something else too. 

“Did you just have sex with my sister?” 

“I – huh?” 

“Anna – fuck – did you even know her name?” 

“I didn’t, shit, I mean, yes, I don’t – but I – she’s your _sister_?” 

Dean was thankful that Castiel didn’t look as though he was going to punch his lights out then and there, because he was rooted to the spot and swaying precariously. “It just happened.” He tried, but Cas took his arm and dragged him through the front door, the cold air hitting Dean like a truck. 

“How much have you had to drink?” The heavy sigh that came from Cas was enough to guilt-trip Dean into at least _trying_ to tell the truth. 

“A lot. Probably too much.” Cas nodded – of course he did – Dean’s words were slurred and he couldn’t even dress himself properly, there was no questioning what he’d said. “My dad’s gonna kill me,” Dean whined, realising just how disastrous this night had ended up. 

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before speaking, words rushing out of his mouth in a hurry. “I’ll take you to my house.” 

Dean looked quizzically at Cas, but nodded all the same, knowing he’d probably change his mind if Dean even began to protest. And it really was a testament to how drunk Dean was, that he handed his car keys over to Castiel without anything more than a quiet grumbling of “be careful” and “don’t fucking crash her”. 

Dean clambered into the passenger seat, and the seatbelt was the only thing keeping him from slumping over to rest his head between his knees. He didn’t even notice his eyes had closed until Cas was digging around in the pocket of his jeans and shocked him into a blinking mess.  He pulled away, Dean’s phone in hand, and didn’t bother telling Dean what was going on. He was calling someone, but Dean didn’t have the energy to be irritated or even ask who Castiel couldn’t call from his own phone. 

“It’s Castiel. Dean is, uh, he’s staying at my house tonight. Would you tell your parents for me – just so they don’t get worried about him.” _Sam._ Dean thanked the stars that the guy looking after him actually retained some common sense after a few beers – unlike _other_ friends he could name. 

Dean didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, his head drooping to one side with the effort carrying its weight. He fiddled around with the seatbelt so he could get enough room to lie down on his side, but his head smacked against the seat every time they went over a bump on the road, and just made him feel even worse. He shuffled across the seat a little until he could put his head in Cas’ lap, smiling at how much more comfortable it was.

“Dean, I’m trying to drive.” 

“Shut up.” 

Dean guessed he fell asleep like that; because the next thing he knew, a pair of hands were pulling him out of the car and shushing him as they stepped past the front door. He didn’t bother opening his eyes; just let Cas lead him like a blind man throughout the house. He was half-dragged up the stairs, Cas’ arm wrapped firmly around his torso, and promptly shoved into the shower – clothes and all. 

The water was barely luke-warm – probably Cas trying to stop Dean from passing out – and his jeans were completely soaked through, his shoes being the only thing to escape. He’d been sitting on the floor of the shower for five minutes when Cas returned and turned the water off. 

“Get changed, try not to kill yourself or break anything.” 

He left Dean to strip out of his clothes, grimacing as the fabric clung and twisted around his skin. Cas had put a pile of folded clothes on top of a hamper, a loose t-shirt of a band Dean didn’t recognise and a pair of boxer shorts covered in angel wings. Dean laughed at this revelation; Castiel owned embarrassing boxers, even if they probably hadn’t left the house in his entire life.

Dean’s head had stopped spinning so much, and it finally felt like gravity was a thing that existed again. He trudged into Cas’ room and squinted in the dark; Cas was already in bed and wrapped up in the duvet on the side next to the wall. 

“Would you just hurry up and get in...” Cas grumbled, not even poking his head out from under the sheets. “There’s a bucket down there, don’t miss.” 

Dean climbed in next to Cas, making sure to keep as much distance as possible between their bodies, but it meant that he was curled up on the edge of the bed. Cas just grabbed him by the back of his t-shirt and pulled him in, still keeping a reasonable amount of space between them. 

“Dean?”

 He hummed quietly in response, too drained to turn over or even open his mouth. 

“Don’t fucking hog the sheets, okay?”


	5. Chapter 5

When Dean woke up, Castiel was still fast asleep beside him. Dean wondered why Cas was still out cold when _he_ was the one that was hungover to hell and back. There was no way he could fall asleep again though – his head was pounding and his stomach felt like it had shifted into his throat during the night. Not to mention the horrific taste in his mouth and the carpet-like feel of his teeth.

 He slipped out of bed and tried to create minimum noise and disturbance – although he could probably sit on Cas’ face and he still wouldn’t wake up. Dean considered leaving right then; he didn’t particularly want to bond with Zachariah or be there when Anna came home. But a trip to the bathroom had Dean sighing with the inconvenience of his clothes lying in a soaked pile on the tiled floor. 

Dean thought about the new level he knew Cas on now; he was a heavy sleeper and a squirmer, he would roll over and change position a lot and fidgeted and even mumbled quietly a few times. Mary had once told Dean that you could tell a lot about a person by the way they slept, and because you had no control over yourself or your body it meant that’s you were most vulnerable. Cas slept curled in on himself, with his knees tucked up and his arms pulled into his chest. Dean thought about asking his mom what that meant, but pushed the notion away almost as quickly as it came. 

Dean sifted through Cas’ drawers quickly in search of something to wear; the first one he opened was filled with an array of ticket stubs, ones from movies, concerts, art galleries, and aquariums. The second draw was a mess of socks and ties, and after much rooting around Dean found sweatpants in the bottom drawer. Cas wouldn’t mind, they were friends, he said it himself, and friends borrowed each other’s clothes to sneak out of each other’s houses, right? Which was all well and good, except Dean didn’t manage to quite get the sneaking part down right. He was still feeling more than a little woozy when he tripped down the stairs, landing him straight into Zachariah’s presence. 

“Hello Dean.” He was sitting at the head of the kitchen table, and the open door gave him the perfect view of Dean standing awkwardly in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. “ I see you’ve recovered from last night.” 

“Um, I don’t--”

 “I was working late in my study, I heard you and Castiel come in.” On the surface he sounded almost pleasant, but Dean could sense the accusatory tone that seeped into his words.  “Did you know that Castiel has never come home drunk until yesterday?” 

This was practically turning into a conversation, and Dean knew that there was no chance of him escaping now, not when Zachariah was on his way to interrogating him. He couldn’t help but sigh as he crossed the room and entered the kitchen, keeping to the other end of the table as Zachariah. 

“He wasn’t drunk.” It wasn’t a lie; Cas seemed perfectly fine last night. The few beers he had only loosened him up, probably for the better too.

“He was stumbling”

“In his defence, he was carrying most of my weight.” 

“I don’t know how much Castiel has told you about himself, but we are a firmly Christian family and we uphold certain beliefs. Beliefs like refraining from intoxicating ourselves to the point of incapacity and losing control of both body and mind. Am I making myself clear, Dean?” Zachariah managed to grit out his words without his false smile ever faltering.

“Crystal.” Dean grumbled, but he made no move to go, expecting something worse to come. The sound of keys jingling and a door opening interrupted Zachariah’s death glare though, his head whipping around to see Cas’ sister in the foyer. 

“Anna, so glad you decided to join us.” His smile had contorted to something malicious now, but he still stayed firmly planted in his seat as she came over to flop into a chair.

 “I told you yesterday, I stayed at Rachel’s house.” She looked thoroughly unimpressed, her eyes wide with nothing but innocence as she lied through her teeth. Of course Zachariah knew she was lying, but something stopped him from calling her out on it, he just let his smile twitch before taking a sip from his coffee.

 Dean was entirely ready to leave when Cas decided to come trudging down the stairs, turning this whole fiasco into the worst family breakfast to grace this earth. His hair was sticking up at all angles on one side and was completely flat on the other, the creases from the pillow still indented into his cheek. Definitely not a morning person, Dean decided. 

When Castiel stepped into the kitchen his eyebrows shot up as he stood there blinking in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s fine.” Anna said soothingly, and she looked at Dean for the first time. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was looking down on him. There was something unconvincing in her expression, and when she turned back to Castiel, Dean wondered if it was sadness. “Did you have fun last night?”

Cas spared a glance in Anna’s direction before going over to the fridge, not saying a word. Anna rubbed at her temples as Cas silently pulled out a carton of milk and set it on the counter with unnecessary force. 

“Cassy, don’t be like that, come on.” Dean expected Anna to sound pleading and apologetic for sleeping with her younger brother’s friend, but instead she seemed almost perplexed at the way Cas was acting, insulted even. “Are you just going to ignore me? _Real_ mature, Castiel.” 

“Don’t call me Cassy, you know I hate it.” He grumbled, leaning up on tiptoes to reach the cereal on the top shelf. He sat down opposite Anna, slamming his bowl on the table so hard that the milk almost sloshed over the edges. Zachariah gave him a look of warning, and Anna scowled at him. 

Dean realised that he was literally standing the middle of a family feud, and prayed for the ground to crack open and swallow him whole. He shuffled in place, and tried to think of something to say to break the tension in the best way possible. It wasn’t a skill he possessed. 

“Okay well, I’m gonna go. Right now. See you at school, Cas.” And with that, he hurried out of the room without waiting for a reply, grabbed his keys from the table in the foyer and slipped out of the door.

 

********

 

Dean didn’t think sleeping with Anna would be detrimental to his and Cas’ friendship, but he also didn’t think Cas would act as though it didn’t happen. Or more accurately, that he’d pretend it didn’t happen around everybody but Anna, whom he was especially cranky with. But they didn’t talk about it, and Dean was smart enough not to bring it up when school rolled around on Monday. 

“I washed your clothes.” 

Dean had gotten used to Cas appearing out of nowhere when he had his head stuffed inside his locker. It didn’t make him jump and concuss himself anymore, even if it did screw up his heart rate. 

“Thanks,” he said, turning around to take the pile of his stuff from Cas’ arms. “You didn’t have to do that though.”

 “No, I did. They were disgusting.” Cas’ nose wrinkled even as he thought about it, and Dean shoved his shoulder lightly. “Everything stank of stale whiskey and beer, and… sex.” There was an uncomfortable moment wherein Dean was stuck for an appropriate reply and just shoved the clothes in the locker, but when he turned around Castiel looked absolutely fine. 

They walked down the hall together to Cas’ locker, and Dean was about to ask Cas if everything had ended okay with Zachariah after he’d left, but Gabriel was already striding over towards them. 

“Cas, my favourite little virgin!” Gabriel clapped him firmly on the back and produced a shit-eating grin. Cas wriggled out of his grip, grumbling about his ridiculous use of the word ‘little’ considering his own height. 

“What do you want?” 

“My mom misses your chubby cheeks and weird conservation, she told me to invite you to dinner this week. Thursday – be there!” As Gabriel bounced off again, Dean couldn’t help but notice the pink flush that had spread across Cas’ cheeks and the way he tried to look away to hide his embarrassment. 

“Why’d you let him around dick around with you like that?”

 “Huh?” Cas frowned at Dean in confusion and tilted his head marginally. 

“Dude, you didn’t even correct him.” 

Cas moved to fiddle with the combination on his locker, and once it was open he ducked his head inside. “Oh, that… well technically there was nothing to correct so --” 

Dean practically choked on his own spit. 

“So you’re telling me you’re a virgin?” He did nothing to even attempt to hide the incredulous look on his face as the words slowly left his mouth. 

“Yes… why are you so convinced otherwise?” Castiel dipped his face impossibly further into his locker, trying to dig a textbook out from the very back; his voice muffled by the confines of its walls. 

“But – I mean – you and Crowley!” Cas was so startled by Dean’s outburst that he hit his head on the locker frame as he flinched in shock. It was as if somebody _had_ to get concussed every time they were around each other.

And _obviously_ there had been some miscommunication and incorrect assumptions made here. 

“I can assure you that Crowley and I have never done… _that_.” Cas looked at Dean indignantly before shoving his books into his bag. This time he couldn’t hide his cheeks increasingly reddening again. 

“But he said that you’re fuck-buddies!” 

“And you trust a word that comes out of his mouth?” 

“Well if you don’t, you know, actually… have sex… what exactly _do_ you do?” Cas quirked an eyebrow at this, and suddenly Dean realised he wasn’t keen on knowing the answer. What did that say about him, asking a question like that? 

“Make out, mostly. In my lowest moments hand jobs have occurred.” Cas sighed and overlooked the way Dean’s nose crinkled at this. Neither of them was entirely sure why this conversation was still happening, especially considering how uncomfortable it was.

“Dude, you don’t even _like_ Crowley, so why are you screwing around with him?” 

“I expect it’s probably a result of self-deprecation and desperation.” Cas looked away and started walking down the hall. “Sometimes I feel, I don’t know, alone… isolated. It’s nice to get some affection for once, I guess.” His voice was quiet and almost wary now, and his tone had dropped so low that Dean strained to hear the last part. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Dean’s gut coiled and clenched at this statement. He couldn’t explain the sudden bitter taste in his mouth or the tightness in his chest, but he pretended it wasn’t anything to do with his friend’s inexplicably low opinion of himself. Dean found it hard to believe that this was the same boy he once thought to be arrogant and self-important. It seemed that the more Dean connected with Castiel, the more he fell apart and let his weaknesses show. 

“Cas…” 

“I have to go, I have a team meeting.” And with that Cas scampered away so fast that he might as well have disappeared on the spot, as per usual. Dean hated when he pulled that trick; it made him feel so unimportant and irrelevant every time Cas left mid-conversation.

Dean sulked all the way to the cafeteria; his shoulders slumped and his eyebrows pulled together in a firm frown. His bad mood made the lunch line feel ten times slower than it really was, and even the prospect of pecan pie did nothing to wipe the scowl off his face. He took one anyway. Dean took a seat at their window table, where Jo and Pamela were already sitting, and wasted no time in shoving his burger into his mouth. But as soon as he started chewing he was very much aware that his stomach still felt like he’d eaten one too many questionable burritos. 

“Well shit, what the hell is wrong with you?” Pamela asked as soon as Dean reluctantly threw his burger back on the tray. He gave Pam an icy stare with narrowed eyes until she held her hands up in defence. “Ouch…” 

Dean pretended he couldn’t hear Pamela’s snarky whisper to Jo about it being his time of the month. 

“Where’s Castiel?” Jo was talking with her mouth full of fries, and Dean absent-mindedly noted that she needed some actual ladiesto rub off on her if she wanted a boyfriend who was _nice,_ instead of the sleazebags from the Roadhouse. 

“He’s at some football thing – I don’t know – it’s not like the guy checks in with me every minute!” Dean shocked even himself with how defensive he sounded. He had no idea what the hell was happening, but he just felt so _jittery_ and on edge, and the string of questions were grating on his nerves a little too much. Jo and Pamela knew Dean though, and therefore knew better than to probe further. They just raised their eyebrows judgementally and gave each other a ‘look’. 

Dean continued to pick at his food silently, dipping in and out of the girls’ conversations when his mind wasn’t elsewhere. Even when Ash joined them Dean still couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the deflated expression he’d seen on Castiel’s face earlier. Dean was so far away that he didn’t notice Cas walk over and sit down at his other side. It took a sideways glance to spot him – resulting in Dean jumping two feet in the air from the close proximity. 

“Jesus, Cas – don’t _do_ that!” 

Cas just stared at Dean like he was some incomprehensible creature that both fascinated and irritated him. 

“Anyway,” Jo leaned in on her elbows so that she was practically in the centre of table. “My mom is out of town this weekend, so I’m thinking about a little get together, a few beers, some movies. Everyone in?” 

Everybody but Cas spoke up in agreement, while he sat stiffly and looked in an entirely different direction. Dean followed his line of sight – Castiel’s other table made up of the same jocks and shiny girls as always. 

“Cas, you wanna come?” Jo’s words brought his attention back to their table, and he looked at his hands thoughtfully. 

“I can’t, I already have plans.” He didn’t look up. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asked a little too accusingly, and wondered when the _fuck_ he turned into Cas’ neurotic girlfriend.

 “Anna’s going out and I promised I would sneak her back in.” 

“Aw come on, Cas, you can’t stay home on a Saturday night just because your sister uses you as a slave!” Pamela leaned over the table to get her face directly in front of Castiel’s. “Besides, from what I’ve heard she’s not the greatest sister in the world.” 

Castiel shrugged. “I really can’t back out, but you guys will be fine without me.”

 

********

 

Cas was right, and Dean almost felt guilty about it. The four of them hanging out in Jo’s living room, watching scary films with a couple of cases of beer – it felt just like old times. Which was ridiculous because it hadn’t even been all that long; Dean had only known Cas for a little over two months. 

It wasn’t as though he’d pushed the others aside to squeeze Cas in; they all took to him quickly and Dean didn’t even have time to process the change in his life. Cas loved hearing about Pamela’s little quirks, the new crystals she’d bought or these creepy tarot cards. He always let Ash tell him about whatever project he was working on (even if its legality was dubious) and the ones he planned to do in the future, not even caring that he didn’t understand half the stuff Ash was talking about. Castiel and Jo were the _most_ ridiculous; they liked each other a lot, and the only reason was because Dean liked both of them, and that was good enough for them. 

“Is there something going on between you and Cas that we should know about?” Pamela wiggled her eyebrows at Dean as she took a sip of beer. 

“What?” 

“You’re wearing his shirt.” She looked at him like he was an idiot, and Jo sniggered away in the background. “Unless you’re suddenly into obscure alternative bands?” 

Dean looked down; it was the same shirt he’d borrowed after Michael’s party. He didn’t even look when he’d thrown it on earlier, just picked up a vaguely clean-smelling shirt from his desk chair. But there it was, plain as day, the band’s name printed across his chest with a large motif beneath. 

“I borrowed it last weekend when I slept at his house.” He shrugged, narrowing his eyes at Pamela.

“Well I think you two make an adorable couple!” Jo cooed, leaning over to pinch one of Dean’s cheeks until he batted her away irritably. 

“I hate both of you.” And Dean got up to sit next to Ash on the opposite sofa.

 

********

 

The next day, Dean was slumped over the kitchen table trying to decipher the notes Castiel had made him for his English class. The guy was an honest to God angel; he’d given Dean his copy of the book, which was laden in tiny scribbles at the end of each paragraph, as well as separate sheets of more fleshed out notes. Except Castiel's ‘notes’ were ridiculous and felt like a foreign language to Dean. 

“You should take Cas to the lake,” Sam suggested. He was leaning over Dean’s shoulder to help decode the notes, and that in itself was demoralising for Dean. 

“What?” 

“He’d like it, that’s all.” 

Dean didn’t know how to answer; the lake had always been his and Sammy’s place, just theirs. Even when their parents took them there to have barbecues with Bobby and his wife, it still felt like it belonged to the two of them. 

It’s not as if he hadn’t thought about it either – Cas _would_ like the lake. He’d go nuts over the scenery and calmness, and he’d probably go into cardiac arrest when he saw Bobby’s book collection in the house. But Dean didn’t want Sam to feel put out, or think he was filling up his place with Cas, because that’s definitely not what this was. He just wanted to share more of his life with Cas, more than having him sit around with Sam and himself watching television and playing stupid pranks on each other. 

“You really think I should?” Dean twisted around in his chair to get a good look at Sam.

“Yeah,” his smile was sweet and genuine as he nodded his head. “He already feels like family, so, it makes sense.” 

Dean blinked incredulously, a small smile of his own twitching on his lips. He hadn’t even let that thought cross his mind, but if Sam – who spent significantly less time with Cas than he did – thought he was like family, then it was good enough for Dean.

“Cool, uh, thanks Sammy.” Dean gave his brother a quick ruffle to his hair, and chuckled at his grumbles about the nickname as he tried to smooth his hair back down. 

Dean called Cas a while later and told him they were going out, refusing to answer the barrage of questions that followed. He drove up to Cas’ house, but before he could even switch the engine off Cas was swinging the passenger door open and slipping inside. 

“Somebody’s eager…” Dean whistled and earned himself a bitch-face from Cas in return – an expression that he never used to have in his repertoire until he started spending time with Sam. 

“My uncle hates you, and for both of our sakes it’s better if he doesn’t see much of you.” 

Cas looked like he’d only just rolled out of bed; wearing a crumpled button-up that had probably never seen an iron in its life, his trench coat in a similarly wrinkled state, and untied shoes. Dean was having a really hard time deciding if Cas was genuinely messy and chaotic, or just _really_ not a morning person. 

“How did you even know I was here? I only just pulled up.” 

“Your car has a very loud and very distinctive sound, now would you just drive?” 

Dean rolled his eyes, but backed out of the driveway and onto the road. The journey took longer from Cas’ house, and the fifteen minutes were filled up with chatter and the changing of cassette tapes and switching radio stations. Cas didn’t ask where they were going, but Dean kept catching him staring out of the window with inquisitive eyes watching the passing scenery. 

“I don’t recognise this place.” He sounded more intrigued than worried, and continued to frown at the increasing number of trees on the side of the road. The trees quickly became a fully-fledged forest, and Dean turned into the small opening that most people would miss entirely. There was something of a dirt track, or just an absence of greenery, which he continued down for a few yards. The path ended though, and gave way to more trees. Dean parked the car and got out, Cas following suit behind him without a word. 

There used to be a footpath once, back when Sam and Dean would come here at least once a week and take the same route each time, but it had diminished to nothing now. Dean navigated them through the forest, Cas trailing behind and getting distracted constantly. Dean remembered which kind of tree to turn at, how many strides it was to the next point, the carving of initials in bark to indicate the halfway marker. Cas would reach his arm out and touch the leaves, still damp with overnight rain, drag his fingertips across tree trunks and overhanging branches. Dean could imagine Raphael and Uriel mocking them for this, calling them hippies and tree-huggers, but for Dean this was home and for Cas this was escape. 

Cas froze in place as they came to the clearing, staring out to the lake and the wooden house. He stepped around Dean and walked ahead of him, striding up the water’s edge and marvelling at its stillness. Dean sighed; it was chilly and the without the protection of the trees the wind whipped around them. His breath left his lips in white clouds of warm air, and his fingers were already beginning to feel the cold bite of March weather. 

“Come on, Cas, it’s cold --” 

“Are there fish in this lake?” He held his palm above the surface, the water resting less than an inch below his skin, as though he couldn’t decide whether to dip it in or not. 

“Yeah I guess, nothing big, just a few catfish and other stuff.” 

Cas smiled and rose from his crouched position, hints of excitement being carefully controlled. Dean just shook his head at him; he would never understand what made Castiel tick, _never_. 

When they went into the house, Dean instantly flopped into the big armchair and kicked his boots off. Just as he’d thought, Cas went straight for the shelves and shelves of books, his neck tilted at a right angle to read the spines. “So, what is this place?” 

“A family friend lived here, but uh, his wife died and he moved out of town. He loves the house though, so he told me to keep in good condition. Me and Sam come down here sometimes.” Dean noticed that Cas had migrated away from the bookshelves now, and was studying the photographs on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. 

“You came here when you were younger?” He asked, picking up one of Dean and Sam as kids. Cas smiled at the photo; Sam was a chubby toddler and an eight-year old Dean had him in a friendly headlock. 

“All the time, we’d have barbecues and play baseball and go swimming - that kind of thing.” 

Cas put the frame back on the mantelpiece, and something in his expression had changed. Dean recognised the deflated look that Cas was trying to conceal; he’d seen it in the mirror one too many times. Dean wasn’t even sure if he wanted to make Cas happy, or whether he _could_ , but he wanted to understand at least. 

“So uh, am I a dick if I ask what the deal with your uncle is?” Dean asked, rearranging himself in the chair as Cas turned around and sat on the couch next to him. 

“No, it means you’re just like every other teenager at our school.”

Cas looked solemn and stiff now, and much more like the guy Dean used to think he knew enough about. He didn’t look curious or amused, and wasn’t scowling or sulking over Dean’s jibes. He just looked standoffish as he stared straight ahead. “You wanna talk about it?” 

Cas’ head whipped around to give Dean a bewildered expression coupled with a frown. “Nobody’s asked me that before...” He settled down and relaxed a little, slouching into the cushions and breathing out a sigh. “They always think they’re a martyr for telling me I don’t _have_ to tell them, or they’re sorry they asked.” 

“So _do_ you wanna talk about it?” 

Cas nodded. 

“My mom died when I was seven.” He looked at Dean, almost like he was checking if he should go further, as if Dean might pat him on the back, act sympathetic, and change the subject. He didn’t. “My dad was a complete mess, so Anna and I stayed with Gabriel’s family for a while--” 

“Gabriel?” Dean cut in out of shock –admittedly he’d seen the two together occasionally, but it never seemed like they were anything closer than casual friends.

“He’s my cousin,” Cas looked at Dean with raised eyebrows, as if he should know things like this already. “Everyone assumed it would just take time for my dad to adjust, but when we came home again he was different, distant. I think it was worse when we were around; every time he looked at me he got this strained expression, like I was torturing him just by being there. I looked like her, and he must have felt haunted by it, you know?”  

Dean nodded, not entirely sure what else he could do right now. Cas didn’t seem to mind though, he just steamrolled on and didn’t let any signs of weakness slip into his voice, like it was a well-practiced art. 

“He asked Zachariah to start looking after us a few times a week, until we ended up spending months there at a time. I guess somewhere along the line Zachariah managed to become our legal guardian, because about a year later we stopped seeing our dad all together. He tried calling at first, but Zachariah said it was better for everyone if we spent time apart.” 

Cas looked back at Dean again with the same unsure demeanour as before, nothing obvious, just a twitch of lips and wringing of hands and a vaguely puzzled expression. 

“I’ve never told anyone that - why did I tell you that?” 

Dean squeezed his shoulder and gave him a sad, half-crooked smile in return. There wasn’t much he could say, not without blurting out a badly timed joke or a shallow comment of support. Castiel was a perfect mould of all those who sailed through high school as successful, worshipped, feared, and talented students – but underneath that thin covering, the delicate egg shell that shielded him, he was just as broken as the rest of them.


	6. Chapter 6

Spring was now well underway and the days were already getting warmer and brighter, but something didn’t feel right. Dean hadn’t seen or heard from Cas in over a week, which was almost impressive considering they had a class together. It was as if he’d just disappeared off the face of the Earth, and Dean had grown so accustomed to seeing Cas everyday that his unexplained absence made him uneasy. He wasn’t even receiving any texts at crazy hours in the night when Cas couldn’t sleep; complaining about Zachariah or telling Dean to listen to a song he’d just fallen in love with. In fact, Dean’s life felt eerily fragmented.

 It was Thursday afternoon when Dean decided he was officially allowed to worry, so he called Cas and hoped it wouldn’t go straight to voicemail, like every other call he’d made this week.

 “Hello?” Cas picked up on the fourth ring, and his voice was scratchy and sounded unused. Dean couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief; at least he knew Cas hadn’t fallen in a ditch somewhere and died. 

“Where’ve you been? You just disappeared out of nowhere without saying anything!” Dean clamped his mouth shut and bit his lip when he realised that he sounded completely neurotic, and waited for Cas’ excuse. 

“I just, things have been happening.” Cas was quiet and unusually hesitant; Dean didn’t even have to think twice to know he was hiding something. 

“You haven’t been at school all week.” 

“It’s – I don’t – it’s complicated. Dean, please--”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I will literally beat it out of you.” Dean could hear Cas fidgeting in the background and the rustle of sheets as he muttered something under his breath. 

“Anna left. She’s gone.” There was a pause wherein Dean tried to work out what exactly that meant, and Cas waited silently for his reply. 

“What do you mean? Like, for good? She’s left town?” 

“Yeah, I went to get her for school and she’d left a note on her bed.” Cas’ voice was croaky now and Dean was getting scared that he might start crying, which would put Dean in the worst position since he wasn’t the greatest at comforting people. 

“Are you okay? I mean it’s not like you’ll never see here again, right?” 

“I don’t – I have no idea. I just couldn’t face school this week; having to explain the situation to everyone because she didn’t want to. But I hate staying in this house too; how am I supposed to cope with Zachariah on my own?” 

“Do you wanna come over? My mom’s making pie.” There was another pause as Cas thought it over, and Dean’s knee was bobbing up and down with a mixture of worry and suspense. He just wanted Castiel to be okay, and go back to being the normal Cas that he knew. 

“Um, okay?” It sounded like a question, as though Cas couldn’t work out why Dean would possibly offer this to him. Dean wondered what kind friends Cas had before if he was so taken aback by one act of kindness. “I uh, just have to get dressed and I’ll come by.” 

“Seriously Cas, get out of bed. It’s four in the afternoon and you’ve probably been moping too much to shower, so do that too.” Cas huffed indignantly and hung up on Dean, but he was already feeling better about knowing there was nothing wrong with Castiel that couldn’t be potentially fixed. It might take longer than Dean wanted, but things would be back on track. 

Castiel rung the bell forty minutes later, and when Dean came to the door he was leaning his bicycle against the porch railing. 

“Why the hell would you bike all the way here if you have a car?” Dean stepped back to let Cas in, and gave him a quizzical look. The night when Dean met Cas he’d driven him home in his car, and most days he would see Cas driving home alone - Anna usually went out with friends after school. 

“I don’t have a car. It was Anna’s, but she hates driving so I usually borrow it. I guess she left in it though, it wasn’t in the driveway.” Dean nodded and put his hand on Cas’ shoulder, squeezing as he gave him a small smile. It was wasted on Cas though; he just looked a little confused, although Dean did catch a hint of a smile just underneath the surface, a discreet twitch of lips. 

They went up to Dean’s room and sat cross-legged on the floor playing Nintendo 64, because Dean was completely appalled that Castiel never owned one, and decided that Cas really did suffer a very deprived childhood. They were midway through Diddy Kong Racing when Sam knocked on the door and poked his head in, smiling brightly when he saw Cas. 

“Dean didn’t say you were coming over,” Sam complained as he came in, instantly throwing himself on Dean’s bed. “You haven’t been around much lately. Is everything okay?” Dean rolled his eyes at his little brother’s crazy intuition, the way he picked up on every little thing as if it there was a neon sign pointing to it. Dean, on the other hand, was blessed with no such skill, and was forever playing a guessing game when it came to Cas. 

“Uh, yeah, everything is fine. Anna left, that’s all.” 

“Like, for college or something?” 

“No, she just said she had to get away. I don’t really know.” Dean’s chest tightened at the absolute patience Cas was treating Sam’s questions with, even though his voice was beginning to crack a little as sadness weighed on his bones and his shoulders slumped. 

“Well you can over whenever your house gets lonely, we’ll be here.” 

“That’s nice, Sam, but I’m sure Dean has things to—” 

“Dude, when he’s not helping at the garage he just plays video games in his underwear all night. Trust me, he doesn’t have things to do.” Sam was grinning deviously and earned himself a book thrown at his head by Dean, who quietly grumbled with embarrassment. Castiel’s cheeks were flushed and hot as Sam insisted that he needed to come over more often, but it subsided after Dean started chuckling as well and ruffled Cas’ hair, a pleased smile on his lips. 

They played more rounds of Diddy Kong, Sam shouting tips at Cas from the bed between playful jibes at Dean. Cas had been appalling for the first three races, but he caught on quickly and soon Dean was shoving into Cas’ side to sabotage his efforts, too competitive to care whether it was a fair game or not. Dean had even let Cas play as Diddy Kong, but now he was so eager to drive Cas off the track that he’d completely forgotten about collecting the bananas and balloons, which just had Sam piping up from behind all over again. Dean didn’t even feel guilty about trying to smother his brother with a pair of dirty socks as punishment for him laughing hysterically at Cas’ victory. 

“Dean, we have to play Pokemon Stadium, come on!” They connected up a spare controller and all lined up in the front of the old television, so tight for space that their knees overlapped with Castiel squashed in the middle. When Sam tried to explain the concept of the different mini-games, Dean almost peed himself at the perplexed look Castiel had as he tried to imagine making a Lickitung eat as much sushi as possible without turning green. And if they thought Diddy Kong was competitive then this was off the scales, because after Sam refused to believe he came last in Clefairy Says, they descended into pure violence. Slaps were handed out, tackles were received, and Castiel had to stop Dean from literally beating Sam with the controller.

Sam eventually disentangled himself from the dog pile that had been formed on the floor - Castiel taking the brunt of it from the bottom, and Dean letting all his weight crush them from the top. While Sam brushed himself down, Dean glanced at Castiel to check he hadn’t actually passed out, forgetting just how much strength he packed in his slim frame. Cas was still sprawled across the rug and propped up on his elbows, slightly red in the face and his hair sticking out at all angles. Dean stared a little, finding he didn’t want to look away from Cas lying next to him, his chest heaving and lips parted as his breathing evened out. Castiel stared back, as always, and it should have felt weird and awkward and they probably should have looked away abashedly by now, but it felt _normal_. 

“Um, I have to go do my homework.” Dean’s head jerked at the sound of Sam’s voice, but he was already out the door and closing it behind himself. With Sam gone, the room descended into a heavy silence, the kind that threatened to suffocate you if nobody said anything to break it. Dean got to his feet and cleared his throat, racking his brains to think of something else to do with Cas – who seemed completely unfazed and was still on the floor with a blank expression. 

Dean went over to his desk and started rooting around in one of the drawers, looking for a tape to play just to fill the air. None of the cassettes that his fingers skipped over and pushed around seemed right though; they were either too loud and too heavy, or too sentimental and depressing. He silently wished all the best tapes weren’t shoved in an old shoebox in the Impala when he needed them most. 

“So what exactly have you been doing all week?” Dean asked, not even thinking about the fact that Cas might not want to discuss it. But he just raised his eyebrows and went back to sitting with his legs crossed, leaning back on his hands.

“Hiding in bed and listening to my dad’s records, while Gabriel brought me a regular supply of hamburgers.” He shrugged as if it was nothing, as if everyone reacted to a family disappearance by having their cousin bring them fast food. 

“Oh,” Dean didn’t know why he suddenly felt the need to fill the silence with mindless conversation, when he and Castiel had always been comfortable with little talking when they were together. “Which ones?”

“The Smiths, The Cure... anything melancholy and old. He has a lot of those.”  Cas smiled a little then, and it was the first time Dean had heard him talk about his dad like a person that was real and tangible, instead of a blurred fragment of the past. Sometimes Dean forgot; he forgot that Castiel had been through much more than his fair share of pain and trauma, and maybe it was because Cas brushed it off like a piece of lint. Cas didn’t appear to be broken, even now with Anna gone; he was composed and didn’t show much of any emotion in particular. Dean wondered if that’s how Cas coped, shutting down his emotions and refusing to feel the loss and betrayal and misery and guilt. People had always spread rumours that Castiel was cold and detached around everyone – a sure sign of his arrogance. But now Dean believed it was the complete opposite – Castiel just didn’t want to get hurt again, or maybe he thought he was driving people away. Dean’s gut tightened; he wasn’t even sure if was thinking about Castiel or himself anymore. 

“What about Pink Floyd? Now there’s some real miserable music.” Dean laughed and it sounded horribly forced and synthetic in his ears, but if Castiel noticed he didn’t say anything about it. He just nodded, which Dean took as a cue to put the tape on. He didn’t even bother checking which songs were on this one, knowing that any Pink Floyd tape was bound to be heavy on gloom. 

The quiet guitar intro of Wish You Were Here hummed out of the player and filled the room, and Dean sank into his desk chair as the guitar built up and the lyrics washed over him.

                        _We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,_

_Year after year, running over the same old ground._

His fingers drummed on his thigh in time with the music, and he let it fill up every nook inside his mind as it resonated against the anxieties there.

_What have we found?_

_The same old fears._

 

********

“Dean, dinner is on the table!” Mary’s voice echoed through the house and Dean hauled himself up from the couch to go into the kitchen. He sat down at the table and was about to stab his fork into a potato when Mary smacked his hand away.

“Wait for your brother!” She laughed as Dean groaned and put his fork down again. “Didn’t Cas want to stay for dinner?”

 “He had to go home, his uncle has him on a tight leash right now.” Dean grumbled. “Cas’ sister ran away last week, I guess Zachariah doesn’t want him getting any ideas.”

 “Did he report her as a missing person?” John asked gruffly from the other side of the other side of the kitchen as he pulled a beer from the fridge. He’d picked up on the same thing Dean had; Zachariah would be furious and want to get her back. Mainly because it reflected badly on him, but he’d also want her to regret she ever tried it. 

“Can’t – she’s eighteen and left him a note saying she was moving out.” This is what Cas had told him earlier; Zachariah was furious and shouting down the phone in his office all day when he found out. Anna had left two notes: one for Castiel and another for Zachariah, except Zachariah was adamant about hiding his from Cas so he couldn’t find out much. His study needed a code just to get through the door. 

“That poor girl, what would drive her to do that?” Mary sighed as Sam came through the door and sat down opposite Dean. 

“Zachariah is pretty suffocating, likes to shove a bible in their faces whenever they do something wrong.” 

They were all seated now, and Dean wasted no time in digging straight into his food, the discussion about Zachariah dissipating as a result. Sam mentioned a girl from his history class and his face became a violent shade of pink when John asked if she was pretty. 

“When are you gonna ask Jess out then, huh Sammy?” Dean teased, trying to hide his laughs behind a big smirk. Sam scowled at him - typical bitch-face - and leaned over the table with narrowed eyes. 

“When are you gonna ask _Cas_ out?” 

Dean choked on his pork chops and starting coughing and gasping so hard that John had to smack him on the back a few times. Dean was now a similar shade of pink to Sam, and the only thing stopping him from launching across the table to whack Sam was the stern expression on his dad’s face. 

“Shut up, bitch.” Dean flung a potato at Sam’s head before he thought to stop himself. “God, you’re such a freak!” 

“Both of you – stop it _right_ now!” Sam and Dean stilled at the sound of their mother’s raised voice, although the poorly concealed snickering coming from John sort of lessened the intimidation. “Now apologise to each other.” 

They mumbled their apologies begrudgingly to one another, and their parents managed to miss Sam mouthing ‘jerk!’ to Dean with another sour look. Dean ignored him though; mainly because Mary set down the leftovers of the apple pie he and Cas ate earlier, just one slice left behind after they pigged out in front of the television. Sam and John put the plates away and went out to watch TV, while Dean was left in the kitchen in Mary.

“Cas is a nice boy, no need to get so defensive.” She said, wiping down the countertops with a damp cloth. Dean frowned at her. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Never mind, sweetie.” She sighed, smiling sweetly back at him. “He is though – he’s a little peculiar, but his heart is in the right place. He seems good for you--” 

_“Mom.”_

“Okay, okay! I’m just saying, it’s not often you get to have a rela--” she paused and looked cautiously at Dean. “ _Friendship_ like that. That’s all.”

“Yeah, sure…” Dean felt like he was supposed to read between the lines here because his mother wasn’t usually this ambiguous, and she was giving him strangely sympathetic looks. He assumed she was just having a moment, getting all emotional over the fact that her son made a friend who wasn’t the child of one of John and Bobby’s friends. That’s definitely all it could be.


	7. Chapter 7

“So when are you and Castiel gonna do the dirty?” Dean would deny that his orange juice simultaneously dribbled down his chin and sprayed out of his nose. Pamela just sat there and smirked knowingly, her eyes gleaming at him. 

“I don’t -- what the fuck are you talking about?!” Dean rushed to wipe his face with the back of his hand and silently begged that a scarlet blush was not currently creeping up his neck. It was. 

“Come on, Dean, I’ve never seen anyone as sexually frustrated as you – not since sophomore year anyway.” 

“I’m straight.”

 “ _You_ are not straight, you’re like a one on the Kinsey scale – maybe even a two.”

 “I don’t even know what that means.”

 “It means you’re hot for Cas.” 

“I don’t like him like that – just drop it!” 

“Oh my god, you can’t even admit it to yourself. This just gets better and better… Winchester, you’re so deep in denial that you’re practically drilling for oil!” Dean stared down at the table intently, refusing to even give Pamela the satisfaction of a reaction, but she was laughing so hard that tremors rippled through the surface of her coffee.

He was never having breakfast with Pamela again. Ever. 

She calmed down eventually, sighing as she wiped her eyes and pushed her hair back. She gave Dean a different kind of look now; one that screamed pure pity and sympathy, all soft eyes and pouting lips. Dean preferred the look of ridicule - it didn’t make him feel itchy under the skin and uncomfortable to his stomach.

“So is he still screwing around with Crowley?” Pamela asked, as though she was doing Dean a favour by changing the subject – albeit to another one he’d rather not talk or think about.

 “How do you know about Crowley?” Before Michael’s party Dean had never heard anything about it, and Pamela wasn’t one to keep that kind of scandal from Dean. So he was left to wonder how she came about this information if they’d never once had a conversation about it. 

“Dean, honey, you’re forgetting that I’m in possession of the greatest goddamn observational skills to grace this earth. I’m like a hawk – nothing gets by me.” She stabbed her fork into a sausage and bit the end off, continuing to talk with the remaining sausage waving through the air to accompany her gestures. “Besides, I walked past you in the hall when you were talking about it. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.” 

Dean grumbled under his breath about the constant lack of privacy she gave anyone, while he cut up his pancakes with a particularly aggressive vigour. It did nothing to waver Pamela of course; she just continued to look at him expectantly. 

“I don’t think much is going on between them now... not since Anna left anyway. Cas hasn’t exactly been eager to leave the house recently.” Dean filled his mouth with too much food and tried to stuff it in one cheek as he spoke, “But you know, whatever, I’m just assuming here. We don’t talk about that kind of stuff.” 

“Yeah? Or do you mean Cas doesn’t talk to you about that kind of stuff? You’re always telling him about which girl you’re drooling over.” 

The thought had never even crossed Dean’s mind before, and now that it had he found himself put off breakfast. He took one last swallow and pushed his plate aside, still half-full of pancakes laden with syrup. He didn’t want Cas to think he didn’t care, and in turn didn’t want to over share with Castiel if it was going to put a rift between them. Although as much as Dean valued Cas’ friendship, he didn’t think there’d ever be a time when he’d want to hear about his and Crowley’s personal affairs.

 “I should, uh, try and get him out the house right?” Dean proposed, feeling a little burdened with guilt all of a sudden. “He probably hasn’t left his bedroom since Friday afternoon.” He thought about the cases of beer stacked in the garage, and how his dad probably wouldn’t notice if _one_ was missing.

 

********

 

Castiel liked to watch Dean drive. He watched his fingers on the wheel; the way he’d tap them in time with the music and stretch them out at a stoplight. He watched Dean’s arms, the shift of muscles in his bicep as he made a sharp turn, and the patches of sunlight that shone through the window to land on his forearms. He watched Dean’s eyes too; the different shades of green that would come to the surface when the light hit them at certain angles. But most of all, Castiel liked to keep track of Dean’s freckles. He hadn’t noticed them at first; they were tiny smudges that blended into his complexion. But as the days progressed from the warmth of spring to the blaring sun of June, Castiel noticed the freckle more with each passing day. They peppered his skin with flecks of gold and brown, the most prominent on his nose and cheeks, but also spreading more subtly across his shoulders and arms.

 Cas knew that Dean hated them; when he’d first pointed them out, Dean had wrinkled his nose in disdain and blushed faintly. He said that freckles were for little kids who got their cheeks pinched by their grandma – not seventeen-year-old boys who could rebuild entire cars. But this was exactly why Cas liked them so much; for all Dean’s protective and aggressive exterior, he was softened by the expanse of freckles on his skin. Cas liked to think they were a more accurate depiction of what Dean was really like, compared to the shield he always put up. 

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me for like ten minutes,” Dean’s voice startled Cas out of his own mind and left him blinking in confusion. “Is there something on my face?” Cas shook his head and turned to look out of the window before the heat in his ears could spread to the rest of his face. He thought about Dean’s question, and decided that nothing on his face needed to change at all. 

He’d been forcibly dragged from his bed by Dean’s rough hands that morning; he didn’t know how he even got into the house but there he was, ripping the bed sheets from Castiel’s needy grasp. Cas didn’t feel like hanging out, he wanted to stay curled up under his duvet listening to his dad’s records, but when Dean wanted something from him he’d usually end up getting it. It wasn’t horrendous, Cas thought, there could be much worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon – especially since this was the first hot weekend of the year, compared to the pleasantly warm ones they were now leaving behind. 

Dean took a different road to the lake so that they could park right behind the house. He got out of the car and grabbed the cool box before heading towards the water. He stopped a few feet from the point where grass gave way to sand, and plopped himself down. By the time Cas had caught up with him, Dean was already sprawled out with his shoes kicked aside and forearm slung over his eyes to block out the sunlight. Cas sunk down next to him and took the beer that Dean held out in his direction. 

“Cheers, buddy.” Dean grinned; they clinked the neck of their bottles together and looked out across the lake, the water calm and still. They sat in a comfortable silence, and that was one of the things Cas liked most about Dean; he didn’t feel the need to fill the air with pointless conversation. Cas liked being able to just sit in Dean’s presence and know he was there with him. 

“Cas?” Dean was looking at him with a certain kind of softness in his eyes, the one he usually reserved for Sam when he was upset. Cas wanted to squirm under it, but he hummed for Dean to continue. “You’re okay, aren’t you?” 

Castiel looked away and chugged down too much of his beer, eyes fixed on the stretch of dark blue water before him as he nodded. “I’m fine.” 

He always was a terrible liar.

Dean nodded but he was clearly unconvinced. “You’d tell me if you weren’t though, right?” Cas turned back to him quickly, suspicious of why this conversation was even happening. It wasn’t in Dean to voluntarily have a deep conversation with Castiel, much less instigate it. Dean must have seen the uncertainty on Cas’ face because he was staring into his beer now and rolling it between his palms as he steamrolled on. “Sam too – and Jo and Pam and Ash. All of us.” He glanced sideways at Cas again, his cheeks pink and a sheepish expression on his face. “We care about you, Cas.” And even though his mumbling was probably unintelligible to any other person, Castiel picked out the words like a beacon in the dark, an itchy warmness settling in his stomach. 

For a while nobody said anything; Dean didn’t want to push the subject and Cas didn’t want to burden Dean. But Castiel felt heavy; he was tired of carrying all these thoughts close to his chest and pretending they weren’t there. There were, and they made each day harder. 

“I’m not mad at her,” Cas reached into the cool box and got himself another beer as he spoke, trying to busy his hands mostly. “I was at first, but I think it was just jealously.” He popped the cap off and held it in his other hand, tightening his fingers into a fist so that the corrugated edges pushed into his palm. “I was jealous that she was brave enough to leave.” 

Dean didn’t say anything, but Cas knew he was listening. If he wasn’t he would have already replaced his empty bottle, but instead he was leaning up on his elbows and watching Cas. 

“It hurt too. How could she just go like that - without even giving me an explanation? I’m her brother, don’t I deserve that much?” And once Castiel started talking about it, he couldn’t stop. He wanted to tell Dean all the things that Anna made him feel, all the times he wanted to scream because it wasn’t fair, and he wanted somebody to listen and understand and hold him. 

“The sad thing is, I wish I was as strong as her.” Cas laughed bitterly, before taking another swig. The next time he spoke though, he was quiet and reserved, almost as if he didn’t want Dean to hear it. “But I can’t stop hoping that eventually our dad will come back.” 

“You don’t have to be like her.” Cas wanted to see the way Dean was looking at him now, but instead he chose to look down at his hands as he swallowed around the thick lump in his throat. “Staying doesn’t mean you’re not strong. It means you have ties here, people that are important to you.” Dean spoke slowly, picking his words out carefully as though Castiel was a piece of cracking glass. 

Cas stayed quiet for a while and contemplated Dean’s words. He took another long sip from his beer, gulp after gulp pushing down his throat. He wondered if it was spiteful to tell Dean what was scratching at his mind. 

“None of them want to speak to me.” Dean sat up and looked at Cas quizzically. “My friends, the team – none of them. In fact, if football season wasn’t over I’m sure they’d have kicked me off the team altogether.” 

“It’s only football, Cas, why do you even want to be on the team?” 

“I’m good at it.” 

“Do you _like_ it though?” 

Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek and thought about it. He really had liked football; he made him feel like a part of something significant. The team had felt like family, and it was all he’d had. A fraction of him had always felt a little out of place with them, and it was only that, a tiny fraction. But being thrown into Dean’s circle and Dean’s family and Dean’s _life_ made that part of Cas grow, and it grew until it consumed all the cells that wanted to continue living his old life. 

He shrugged, and Dean was nice enough not to gloat about his victory.

“Is it because of me? Is that why they’re not talking to you?” Cas looked at the hybrid expression of irritation and worry on Dean’s face, and suddenly he was filled to the brim with guilt for shoving his problems in Dean’s direction. But he really was a horrible liar and it would make him feel even guiltier if he didn’t tell Dean the truth. 

“Yes.” Dean scowled a little, and crossed his arms. “They told me not to associate with them anymore. That if I’m going to spend so much time with you, I might as well stay there.” 

“Can’t say I’m sorry, it’s their fault for thinking I’m such a loser.” 

Dean was smiling again and he took out another beer, ignoring the idea that maybe they were getting through them too quickly. “Besides, think of all the time you’ll get to spend with me now!” He broke out in a toothy grin and his eyes crinkled at the edges, and Castiel could do nothing but let his entire body fill with warmth at the sight. 

“Gabriel still refuses to let me go though,” Cas wrinkled his nose at the thought of Gabriel deciding he’d rather be friends with Cas than the others. 

They stopped talking about it after that, and moved the conversation to what had happened at school that week and what their plans for summer were. It was like a weight had been lifted from both of them; they hadn’t felt this at ease in each other’s company since Anna had left. The beers kept coming too, until they were laughing with their heads tipped back and tears streamed down their cheeks. 

“This looks like a nice place to swim.” Cas pointed out, and it wasn’t meant to be a proposition in any way but Dean was already stumbling to his feet and wrestling his shirt off. “Dean, what are you doing?” 

“Come on – first swim of the year!” Cas sat there dumbfounded as Dean undid his belt and the buttons of his jeans, wriggling out of them to step onto the sand. “Cas, get your fucking ass over here _now_!” And as Castiel stripped down to his underwear, Dean had taken off his boxers and was already running into the lake with his hands cupping his crotch. 

Cas rolled his eyes at the yelp Dean let out when launched himself into the water, but slipped out of his own boxers and followed him in. The cold hit him instantly, and it felt like a thousand needles slamming into his body until he was up to his shoulders in it. It didn’t take Cas long to adjust to the cold, but every hair on his body was standing on end and he was covered in goose bumps. Dean was swimming towards a worn looking surfboard that was floating in the middle of the lake, left there from the previous day when Sam had taken his first swim of the year. 

They hovered on either side of the surfboard, arms folded on the surface with their chin resting atop, legs dangling in the water. Dean was still grinning, and made a joke about Cas needing a good tan to stop him looking like a ghost, even though he was only a couple of shades lighter than Dean. Cas kicked him in the shin for the comment, and an all-out bitch fight broke out wherein they scrabbled at one another and splashed too much water in each other’s eyes. 

They laughed until their throats felt raw and scratchy and their stomachs threatened to split in two. Dean called a truce, but it didn’t stop him spurting a mouthful of water at Cas like a fountain. There really was a truce after Dean took a knee to his balls. Their excitement died down a little; the cold shock of the water had started to sober them up and all they could do was float on the side of the surfboard. 

Dean was staring at Castiel and this in itself made Cas wary, because Dean was usually the one staring back. His cheeks were flushed a little, and water droplets fell down his face in rivulets. His eyes though, looked like a scared little boy, and Cas’ stomach twisted instinctively. 

“Don’t leave, Cas, I won’t forgive you.” His eyes were so that wide now that he almost looked frenzied; and the way his eyebrows pulled into a frown and lips pressed together made Castiel feel nauseous. “Promise me you won’t leave.” It was barely a whisper, but it bounced off the water and hit the bark of the trees and worked its way into Cas’ bones. 

Castiel looked away with the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat. He turned his back on Dean; turned his back on the hurt look on his face and the shaky bob of his Adam’s apple. 

“It’s getting late.” Dean didn’t reply. “It’s a school night.” Silence. 

Cas sighed, rubbing the heel of his hands into his eyes as he shoved down the queasiness that rose in him. “Can you take me home? I think I need to go home.” He heard the sigh that left Dean and the ripples of water as he pushed away from the board. 

Cas swam ahead of Dean, and as he neared the shallow water he was all too aware of his total nudity. He hurried onto the sand as quickly as he could and yanked his underwear back on, grimacing at the feel of the sandy fabric clinging to his wet skin. He got dressed facing forwards, eyes down, not wanting to risk seeing Dean next to him as he did the same. They walked in silence to the car, the only sounds being the humming of crickets and the gentle wind rustling through the trees. Dean didn’t even put any music on for the entire ride back to Cas’ house.

The whole day ended up being too much. Dean had only wanted to make sure Cas was doing okay, and give him something to smile about and remember whenever he felt miserable. But instead, all he could think about was the cold, empty space that Cas would punch into Dean’s life when he left. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some meg/cas in this chapter jsyk

It was the Monday afternoon of their last week of school before summer, and Dean and Cas were spending it at the lake. It had been warm enough for a good hour outside, until a chilly wind came whipping around and had them cooped up in the living room of the house. Dean was awkwardly pacing at the back of the room, but Cas was too engrossed in examining the bookcases to even notice. He reminded Dean of Sam; the way they’d both go straight to the far wall when they entered this room, the same gentleness they treated the books with as they skimmed their fingertips along the spines on each shelf. 

“What do you think of Lisa?” Dean had tried to sound nonchalant and casual, but the words broke their silence with an anxious edge. 

“What?” Cas wasn’t listening properly. Dean could tell from his deep frown of concentration as he craned his neck sideways to read the book spines. Dean tried not to get irritated – he was well aware that this was the worst time to try engaging Cas in a serious conversation. 

“Well,” he thought about his words carefully, looking for a phrase that wouldn’t make him sound… co-dependent. “You think she’s cool, right?” 

Cas straightened up at this, almost reluctantly tearing himself away from the books to meet Dean’s stare with a quizzical grimace. “Is this a trick question?”

 Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t even try to contain the huff of frustration that escaped him. When Cas’ face began to contort with yet more confusion, Dean threw himself into the armchair, legs dangling over the sides without an ounce of grace.

 “Just answer the damn question.” 

“I don’t know her well enough to make a judgement…” Cas only mumbled when he was upset and too stubborn to admit it, or when he was skirting around questions. What Dean couldn’t work out was why either one of those would apply right now. 

“You know everyone, Cas, come on.” 

“Why is my opinion suddenly so important?!” Cas’ voice boomed throughout the room, reverberating off the wooden walls in a low but forceful tone. Dean flinched before he could stop himself, the impromptu anger catching him unawares. 

He tried to read Cas’ face; his expression had gone stony and cold, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. Meanwhile Dean had frozen in place so quickly that Cas might as well have petrified him to stone. A few long seconds of tense silence passed before Cas’ frenzy seemed to melt away, leaving him red-faced with the sheepish expression of a child. He quickly turned away and returned to staring at the books, but Dean knew Cas well enough to see that he wasn’t actually reading any of the titles, just giving them his creepy soul-stare. Dean pondered the idea that Cas would have already apologised for his outburst if he wasn’t so rigidly stubborn and worried about his pride. He wasn’t so sure he’d like Cas as much without those qualities anyway. 

“You know your opinion matters to me…” Dean grumbled eventually, knowing he’d dented Cas’ shell of defence – even if he didn’t know _how_. “It means more than anyone else’s; except Sam but you know, that’s different.” 

Cas didn’t reply, but the small upturn of his mouth was enough to convince Dean he’d heard. Cas stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and turned to Dean again, the anger in his eyes replaced by a shadowy gloom. 

“She seems nice.” He gave a weak smile that stayed far away from his eyes, causing Dean’s gut to clench in discomfort. Dean hadn’t realised just how much he craved Cas’ approval until he knew he didn’t have it. “So… you’re going to ask her out?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

“Well um, Gabriel is having a graduation party on Friday but I think a lot of our grade are going too. She’ll probably be there, so, I don’t know. We could go?” Dean was unsettled by the sudden awkwardness that seemed to have engulfed them, and wondered if he’d done something to make Cas uncomfortable. He waved it off though; if something was really bothering Cas he would mention it. 

Dean agreed, mostly because Gabriel was renowned for the parties he threw; they were crazy and hilarious and a few people usually ended up severely injured, but they were the best.

 

********

 

Dean hated the party. 

The seniors were almost all douche bags and it was as if they _wanted_ to make everyone hate them. Raphael had actually ruffled Dean’s hair and pinched his cheeks, before ordering him to get beers for all his friends. Michael shooed Raphael away, but he wasn’t much better either, he just talked to Dean in the most condescending way possible. Pamela was there too, but she’d abandoned Dean to hang out in the shed with a couple of stoners who played in a band; Ash however was fast becoming a legend as he did keg-stand after keg-stand.

“Is my tie okay?” Cas asked frantically, looking to Dean for reassurance that he didn’t look like a tramp. He did, albeit a tramp wearing expensive clothes. 

“Why are you wearing a tie, this is a _party_.” He stepped into Cas’ space anyway and took the tie in hand, twisting it the right way around and pushing the knot up since Cas had decided to button his collar up for once. 

“Gabriel said to look classy…” Cas mumbled, and Dean just rolled his eyes; Gabriel couldn’t host anything remotely classy without it turning seedy. 

Dean’s eyes flitted up to glance at Cas’ face, but he was suddenly aware of just how close they were standing. Dean had finished tidying Castiel up but didn’t move away, just stood there for a moment and took in the small smile that tugged on Cas’ lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Dean came back down to Earth and stepped back, clearly his throat and looking away as his ears reddened and burned hot. 

“Lisa’s over there, you should go talk to her.” Dean looked at Castiel quizzically, feeling slightly baffled by the sudden change in subject. 

“Um yeah, yeah okay. I guess I should.” Cas looked strangely dejected as Dean walked away, but again Dean didn’t question it and just brushed it off. But it kept nagging at him the whole time he was talking to Lisa, and in the end he realised that he wasn’t really great company anyway, since he kept zoning out and thinking about the grim look on Cas’ face. 

He came up with some half-assed excuse to leave and found his way back to Cas again, whose expression was completely unreadable to Dean. They hadn’t even been talking for ten minutes when they were interrupted by a face Dean was never pleased to see. 

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” Crowley seemed to appear out of nowhere and sidled up to Cas, and Dean didn’t miss the hand that went straight to the small of Cas’ back. “Have you seen your cousin recently? He’s off the walls; making diabetes cocktails for everyone.” Crowley raised his glass to Cas; a brightly coloured drink in a martini glass that had sugar coating the rim, and a single cherry floating on the surface. “Want the cherry, darling?” 

Crowley smirked at the small nod Castiel responded with, and plucked the cherry from his drink and brought it to Cas’ lips, who opened his mouth and waited for Crowley to drop it in. Dean felt like he was intruding on something far too intimate and truthfully it made him feel a little queasy, especially when Crowley ran his thumb along Cas’ bottom lip and leant in to kiss him. 

Dean looked away awkwardly and crossed his arms until Crowley pulled back, and Dean could have sworn that Crowley leered at him smugly and winked, and the sheer audacity made Dean’s ears ring with irritation as he scowled back at him. Crowley was the one who interrupted them for some obnoxious PDA, but he had to salt the wound by being crude about it too; Dean just wanted this party to be over already. 

"Dean, what's-" Cas took one look at the glare Dean was still directing at Crowley as he waltzed off, and held back a laugh. "Are you jealous?" 

"Shut up, Cas, what the hell is wrong with you?" And Dean _knew_ that Cas was being sarcastic, that Cas had learnt this kind of humour from him in the first place, but somehow that all went straight over his head. It was only after his poor choice of wording had made Castiel frown and skulk away to pour vodka down his throat, that Dean realised he'd sounded like a dick. He stayed rooted to the spot as the cogs tried to turn in his brain - he was the one to convince Cas to loosen up and re-evaluate his humour; and now here he was, getting defensive over a stupid joke. 

For once, Dean didn't need anyone to tell him Cas' feelings were hurt. That much was obvious when Cas narrowed his eyes at him and slumped off promptly. 

Half an hour later Cas was still avoiding Dean like the plague, spending his time swallowing shots one after the other. Dean had been looking for Cas again when he’d seen him pushing Meg up against the wall with their lips locked and hands _everywhere_. Dean froze in his tracks and just stared; he couldn’t fathom why he felt like all the air in his lungs had been violently punched out of his chest. _It wasn’t because of this_ , he thought, it was entirely unrelated and had nothing to do with the scene in front of him. He pivoted around and trudged to the back door with his feet dragging across the floorboards, desperate for cold air to whip across his face and ease his breathing. He ignored the growing taste of copper in his mouth and the crawling of his skin as he stepped outside and braced himself against the wall, forehead pressing at the cool grit of the brick. 

Dean accounted all of this to Pamela’s cheap vodka that he’d chugged ten minutes prior. That’s all it was, _nothing else_. Dean sidestepped the fact that he didn’t even feel drunk, because it was the only explanation he had right now. Although it didn’t justify why his fists were clenched tightly, knuckles white as his nails dug into his palm bluntly. 

Okay so maybe Dean was harbouring some disdain towards Meg for being all over his best friend – but that’s _all_ it was. She’d just triggered a deep-rooted dislike that had long been settled inside of Dean’s bones, and he’d even go as far as saying it was partly down to his scarily protective nature, but definitely nothing in the area of jealously. At all. 

He still couldn’t lie to himself about the resentful and uncomfortable feeling that rose through his abdomen whenever he saw Cas get intimate with someone. Each time it happened, it made Dean realise that none of the girls – or guys – they knew were good enough for Castiel. Dean didn’t think any one of them was extraordinary or special enough to deserve affection from a guy like Cas. That was usually the point where Dean snapped out of it and went for a long drive with music blaring to drown out his embarrassment; because guys just didn’t think those things about their friends, it’s wasn’t protocol. 

Dean straightened up and pushed himself off the wall, now with the firm intentions of getting the hell out of Gabriel’s house and crawling into his own bed, but he was intercepted at the door by the unmistakeable smirk of Gabriel himself. Dean held in a string of profane curses as he was edged back outside. 

“Ah, Dean-o,” Gabriel had a certain glint in his eyes that Dean did not like the look off. “Not with Castiel?” 

“Well can you see him?” Dean snapped, already feeling like he was at the edge of his tether. 

“Come on - trouble in paradise already?” His smirk darkened into a much less amused glare. “He’s pretty upset, you know. Whatever you said hit him like a truck.” 

“It’s none of your business, okay?” 

“Except it is, because he’s my cousin and I actually like him. So you better not let this snowball, Winchester, or I’ll have your head.” And it would have sounded intimidating, had he not been sipping on a fruity alcopop with an umbrella and straw poking out of the neck. 

Dean put his face in his hands and sighed; this night was supposed to be fun and relaxing but it had all turned to shit so quickly. And Gabriel was _still_ standing there, just watching Dean trying to compose himself a little. 

“He loves the aquarium. Just so you know, for when you feel like apologising.” Gabriel disappeared back inside and left Dean to decipher that piece of advice and sort out his problems. Dean groaned and looked up to the sky, wishing that just this once, some divine power would cut him some slack and give him a solution. As expected, he had no such luck. 

Dean skulked back inside with hopes of just slipping out of the party undetected, to carry out the plan of hiding in his duvet at home until Cas decided he wasn’t annoyed anymore. But on his way through the living room he saw something out of the corner of his eye, and it was impossible to ignore. Cas was draped over a fancy chaise longue with Meg on all fours between his legs, literally pouring alcohol down his throat. Cas looked completely trashed: his hair was even worse than usual, his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his eyes could barely stay open, and his cheeks were flushed. 

Dean tried to withhold his resentment as Meg leaned down and licked up the alcohol that had spilled down Cas’ chin, before moving up to kiss him in a sloppy fashion that was _so_ inappropriate for a room full of other people. His pulse was racing now; seeing Meg all over an incapacitated Cas was all it took for him to lose his shit, and he rushed over and dragged her off of him roughly. 

“What the fuck is your problem, Dean?” She spat sourly as she tried to regain her balance. “He’s just having a little fun, maybe you should try it sometime.” Her seductive drawl was back and she looked Dean up and down, biting on her lip. 

“You are a manipulative little _bitch_ , and if you don’t get out of my sight right now you will regret it!” Meg must have sensed the pure anger running through Dean’s veins as he gritted the words out, because she was scurrying off in another direction. Cas had managed to push himself upright but could barely support his own body weight, and was swaying dangerously. 

“Why’d she – Dean what’d you do – why’s she gone?” Cas slurred, his eyebrows pulling together into a frown as he tried to work out what just happened. Dean sighed, knowing he couldn’t just leave Cas in this state, and hauled him up by the front of his shirt. “What’re you doing?”

“Buddy, you need to go home. I think you may actually die if you stay here…” He slung Cas’ arm around his shoulders and took most of his body weight, managing to carry him through the house and out the front door before Cas started protesting. 

“Get - get off me, stop!” He struggled against Dean’s grip and squirmed around until he broke free, and toppled around precariously. Cas tried to look menacing, but the entire effort was undone by his trembling and swaying, so he settled for shoving at Dean’s chest instead. “You – you are an asshole. You’re selfish, okay, you’re broken and, and you take it out on everyone else!” He tripped over his own feet and fell to his knees, but he landed in a way that had his face dangerously close to Dean’s crotch. So close that he rested his cheek there to steady himself and was practically nuzzling Dean’s cock, his lips pressed against the denim as he huffed out a laugh at his own clumsiness. 

“Come on, Cas, get up.” Dean muttered as he hauled his body up, already regretting his decision to be a decent human being. Apparently Cas was a grabby drunk, because his hands were everywhere as he scrambled to his feet again and Dean was becoming increasingly worried about getting an inappropriate boner from the contact. Although he didn’t have to think about that for much longer, since any signs of an accidental erection disappeared when Castiel doubled over and vomited just shy of Dean’s shoes. “Jesus Christ, I can’t take you home like this…” 

Dean steadied Cas as he wretched a few times and then coughed weakly; he was pale as a sheet and looked close to passing out now. So Dean took a couple of deep breaths, prayed for the wellbeing of his upholstery, and bundled Castiel into the passenger seat of the Impala. He went around and slipped into the drivers seat, having to lean over and buckle Cas’ seatbelt for him before heading out for the lake. 

There was no way Dean could drop Cas off without being skinned alive by Zachariah, and his own dad would throw a fit if he brought an unconscious Castiel back home; so the lake house was the only option. Five minutes into the drive, Cas had already passed out and was snoring lightly with the side of his face pressed against the cool window, and Dean resisted the urge to just crash the car so he didn’t have to face the next day.

 

********

 

Dean was lying on the couch and flicking through a book when Castiel appeared the next morning. It was late afternoon and Dean was bored to hell, but there was no way he was going to disturb Cas until he showed his face. 

“So you’re alive!” Dean joked, probably a little cheerily too.

 “Did we come here last night?” Cas stayed in the doorway, voice quiet and a sheepish frown digging into his forehead.

Dean nodded; if Cas didn’t remember that then maybe he’d also forgotten about their little dispute. “I couldn’t take you home – you were exceptionally drunk and Zachariah would have killed us both. Even considering _my_ family, I couldn’t have taken you back to my house.” 

“Thanks, but I’ll still be in a lot of trouble for not coming home.” The indifferent monotone of Cas’ words reverberated through Dean slowly and coldly. He only spoke like that when he was attempting to hold back a surge of overpowering emotions, as if detaching himself was the floodgate preventing an outburst. More often than not, this occurrence was a result of rage.  

Dean now had no misconceptions that Castiel had forgotten. 

“Are you seriously still mad at me? I made a stupid comment, it’s not a big deal!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean realised two things. The first was that he was unwise in pursuing the subject – he should have just given Cas the time to cool off and be annoyed for a while. Secondly, his attempt to downplay it wasn’t his smartest idea – it was one of his worst. Dean knew it was a big deal to Cas – otherwise he wouldn’t have spent the night feeling suffocated by mind-numbing guilt. 

“I gave up _everything_ for you – I have made sacrifices one after the other, for _you_!” Cas came to stand over Dean with a few quick strides. He loomed in front of him and was close to penning Dean in with nowhere to turn. Dean recognised the tight lipped and stony expression on Cas’ face and knew what usually came next. Dean got to his feet and they stood face to face – if Cas was going to fight him, Dean wasn’t going to take it sitting down. 

“I never asked you to do any of that! You could have pretended you’d never met me; it’s all on you if you can’t go back to your little group of obnoxious, asshole friends!” Even though Cas put on a vicious scowl, Dean knew that he was cutting deep and offending Cas in a big way. But once Dean had started, words coated with spite couldn’t stop leaving his mouth, like a dam had been flung open. “You’re the one who wouldn’t leave me in that fucking alley – you’re the one that keeps coming back, so just because you’re missing all the perks of being adored and respected don’t you dare blame this on me!” 

When Cas closed in on him with a fire in his eyes, Dean expected an intense staring contest wherein Cas would flare his nostrils and narrow his eyes menacingly – not a punch square in the face. And _fuck_ , did Cas pack a punch. Dean’s head snapped sideways with such force it practically gave him whiplash, and he stumbled backwards as the room momentarily span and he struggled to regain balance. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to dispel the dark blotches that now clouded his hazy vision, although not enough to mask the image of Cas still standing before him with the same flinty expression, now with a darker trace of fury. 

Dean brought a hand to his eye, but as soon as his fingertips brushed against the skin he winced at the sharp pang of pain. He stood there idly as Cas stiffly backed up and averted his eyes. Even as Cas shuffled out of the room to retrieve his jacket and shrug into it, Dean was still rooted to the spot, only finding the will to move when Cas was at the front door and ready to leave. 

“Where are you going?” 

Cas looked back briefly, but Dean saw the weariness in his eyes. Cas was done; he’d had enough. 

“Home.” 

“I drove here, I’ll give you a ride…” Dean mumbled, but Cas was already out the door and descending the porch steps. 

“I’ll walk.” The blunt edge in his voice made Dean back down entirely, and he retreated back into the house with irritation coursing through his veins. He took that irritation and put all his energy into focusing on it; if he didn’t he would find himself thinking about what it meant for Cas to walk ten miles just to get away from him.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean had spent about fifteen minutes on Cas’ porch before actually ringing the bell; he was trying to prepare himself for being greeted by Zachariah’s gleeful smirk, which would fast become a grimace as he recognised Dean. So when it was Cas that opened the door, clad in a wrinkled t-shirt and blue boxers, rather than the snarky bald tyrant Dean had expected, it was totally plausible that he would turn into a speechless mess. 

“What do you want?” Cas said curtly, sounding far more awake than his squinty frown and haphazard hair suggested. Dean was having trouble deciding where to look, and was still too flustered to manage the art of coherent speech. 

Cas shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly vexed by Dean’s presence. “What kind of person stands on my doorstep for fifteen minutes and then has nothing to say?” He was grumbling mostly to himself as his patience began to wear thin, but Dean had already stopped listening. 

“Get dressed.” Dean came here for a reason and he did not intend to give up so damn easily. He didn’t care that Cas had seen him waiting there like an awkward 12-year old; there were much more important matters at hand than short-term embarrassment. 

It was all Cas could do to look incredulously at Dean, not knowing what to make of the stubborn determination on his friend’s face. “Excuse me?” His eyebrows had shot up but his mouth was still set in a firm line, as though Dean speaking to him with such plain authority genuinely offended him. Dean wondered whether it might – like Cas had said, he’d been at the top of the food chain before Dean came along and tainted his ‘untouchable’ status. Dean ignored the wave of guilt that rippled through his stomach. 

“Look, I’m trying to goddamn apologise here.” suddenly Dean felt overly defensive and couldn’t soften the glare in his eyes. There was a reason Dean didn’t put himself on the line like this – he hated how vulnerable and open it made him. It should say a lot about how much he cared for Cas, he thought, that he would put himself in this position just to fix them. That he’d let himself be susceptible to pain, because it would be more bearable than Cas never speaking to him again. Four days had proved hard enough. “Just come with me, okay, trust me.” 

Cas shifted his weight from foot to foot and rubbed the back of his neck, while his eyes flitted to every object around them but Dean’s face – all nervous ticks that Dean had grown accustomed to. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence and tension, Cas’ shoulders sagged as he let out a heavy sigh and stepped back to open the door wider. He didn’t invite Dean in, just pivoted and disappeared up the stairs.

Dean took this as a cue to tentatively step inside, pushing the door closed behind him. The house looked the same as ever: lonely and bright, a house but not a home. He wondered how Cas could bear it, especially with Anna gone; it was just him isolated in this monstrosity of tinted glass and coded doors, with only Zachariah for company. He imagined Cas shut up in his room all day, perched on the edge of his bed with his back hunched over as he flipped his dad’s old records. 

Dean snapped out of his thoughts as Cas came stumbling back down the stairs, tripping over his feet in a way that was very far from the fluid purpose he usually walked with. His jeans were ripped at one knee and his white t-shirt was covered in grass stains – Dean had never seen him leave the house looking as scruffy as this, and he was kind of scruffy on a daily basis anyway. 

“It’s laundry day.” He muttered as he passed Dean, having clocked the surprised expression on Dean’s face. Another time Dean would have laughed at this, but then it dawned on him that Cas didn’t have his parents there to do his laundry; he did everything by himself. When Anna was still there, Zachariah would insist on having dinner together whenever he was home in time (not often, apparently), but now he didn’t even bother. 

Dean didn’t want to linger on the thought, and headed out to the car with Castiel in tow. There was an awkward quietness surrounding them, and Dean wondered how it could feel so different to the comfortable silences they’d so often shared. 

He fiddled with the radio as they drove, becoming nervous about how Cas would react when he realised what was happening. Dean didn’t even have a real plan, he was just going on a whim and hoping something would come to him in the moment. And well, if Cas got even angrier, then Gabriel was going to be the one to pay for it. 

“Where are we going?” Cas asked as they neared the city; Dean realised that Cas probably thought they were going to the lake up until now. Dean ignored the question though, and just kept driving. “Dean. Why are we here.” Cas’ voice was quietly insistent as they pulled up to the aquarium, and for a moment he seemed genuinely alarmed.  

“I, uh, heard you like the aquarium,” Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition and turned to Cas, trying not to screw his words up like usual. “I don’t know dude, I’m just trying really hard here.” He breathed out a sigh and ran his fingers through the short hair on the back of his head, hoping Cas wasn’t going to walk away and leave again. 

“Let’s go then.” 

It was perfectly neutral in tone, but Dean still felt like he was walking on ice after their last meeting. So he stayed in seat for a moment, too shocked to get out, until Cas was opening the door and slamming it behind him. Dean caught up and walked ahead a little, so he could reach the counter first and pay for both of their admissions. Cas raised an eyebrow at him, but wordlessly went through the entrance and down the stairs. 

It wasn’t until they passed through a fake airlock that the light dimmed to an ethereal blue glow, and huge glass tanks faced them on both sides. The stiffness in Cas’ body seemed to melt away as he walked further in, studying every single fish and anemone in each tank. They passed the stingray pool and Castiel leaned so far over the glass barrier that Dean was prepared to yank him back if he toppled over. 

When they came to the tunnel Cas sat down on a bench halfway along. Dean liked the tunnel more than the other tanks; when he was a kid he was always itching to see the nurse sharks and hammerheads that swam around in here. There was a whole host of other things though; stingrays, turtles, angelfish, catfish, and all the ones that Dean couldn’t name. Apart from a young couple at the other end, they were alone in the tunnel. Dean had especially hoped that the aquarium wouldn’t be completely bursting with noisy children and ratty parents at ten o’clock on a Monday morning, and for once his luck held out. 

“My dad used to bring me here a lot when I was a kid, it was like heaven to me. Anna couldn’t stand it though; she’d throw a tantrum every time we stepped through the door. So my mom would take Anna to the park whenever Dad brought me here.” 

The tunnel became small and entrapping as Dean began to feel hot and prickly with discomfort. Sure, he and Cas were friends, but it felt like they weren’t just crossing new boundaries now; they were smashing through them. Dean stayed quiet and tried not to fidget as Cas spilled his guts out, trusting Dean with childhood memories that had never before left his lips. Dean knew that he was the first person to hear these stories, painful insights into a life Castiel used to live, could tell from the softness of his words and the uneven cracks in his voice. 

“I loved all of it, but the tunnel was my favourite. We’d sit here watching the sharks and the turtles and the fish, and it would feel like hours went by. I still love it, feeling like I’m in the middle of some faraway ocean. Time stops when I’m here, and nothing exists outside of this tunnel; it’s kind of beautiful and terrifying, isn’t it?” 

Dean didn’t know what to say, whether Cas expected an answer or was just talking to himself. But he was looking at Dean now, a glassy vulnerability in his wide eyes that had Dean’s throat closing up around a lump. He nodded and tried to smile, but Dean thought it probably looked more like a twitchy grimace.

“We were here the day my mom died.” Cas said quietly, and Dean already felt slightly nauseous with unease. “I ran off to sit in here and I was waiting for my dad to catch up.” Cas was slumped over now, and his knee jerked up and down as his voice grew progressively weaker. “I sat on this bench for three hours, waiting.” 

Dean looked at Cas again, wanting to see the expression that went with the bitter inflection of his last words. Dean got nothing but a mask though; Cas’ face was smooth and blank, a practiced façade. 

“I walked home by myself – you know nobody even asked what I was doing? A seven year-old child walking down the street crying, and not a damn person asked where my parents were.” Dean watched Cas’ hands ball into fists, and imagined unfolding each of Castiel’s tense fingers until they rested pliant and relaxed in his palm.  What did that even mean, that Dean wanted to look after Cas? Dean pushed the thought away quicker than it came, and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“I got home and everyone was in the living room; Dad, Anna, Zachariah, Gabriel and his parents. When my dad saw me he cried so hard, and all it did was make me cry more. So Gabriel took me upstairs and told me that my mom was in a car crash and she wasn’t coming home.” Cas’ voice was barely a croaked whisper now, and Dean was painfully aware that Cas was torturing himself with a mixture of nostalgia and sour regret. Dean was sitting next to a boy that had been chipped away at for ten years by a parasitic memory, one that clearly never stopped haunting him. “Fuck,” Cas almost laughed, a humourless dry sound, and used his sleeve to wipe the tears that didn’t have his permission to fall. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this – sorry, I must sound--” 

“It’s okay. I get it.” Dean slung an arm around Cas and squeezed his shoulder, managing a small half-smile that radiated sadness. Dean had only wanted Cas to be his friend again, to go back to how things were before the party, but now he was trapped in a limbo where Cas trusted him enough to break down in front of him, but not enough to say what he felt. Dean wasn’t sure he wanted that kind of responsibility; he could barely keep a hold on his own emotional problems, never mind Cas’ mountain of them. But he couldn’t run away now, not after listening to that story and choking back his own tears. Dean didn’t get it at all, he felt like he was tumbling into a web of unknown fears and troubles. 

“Come on, let’s go to the rock pools.” And just like that, Castiel was up on his feet and walking out of the tunnel, turning back at the end to smile at Dean expectantly. Dean’s stomach flipped, and he didn’t dwell on it. 

Five minutes later, Dean felt like a toddler. His hand was submerged in water as he prodded an orange starfish. It didn’t help that there were actual toddlers doing the same thing in a row of other rock pools. But even worse than that, was having Cas next to him as he spurted out a string of facts about starfish into Dean’s ear. The sudden influx of small children in this section meant that Dean and Cas were squashed between them all, sides pressed together with elbows digging into each other; but they were just glad they didn’t have to share their pool with any miniature chubby hands.

“Did you know that starfish aren’t really fish? They’re called sea stars and they’re actually echinoderms.” Dean shook his head and smiled brightly, the growing excitement in Cas leaking into his system and flushing out the worry and fear. 

“What else do you know about them, huh, fish-boy?” Cas scowled at the nickname and bumped his shoulder into Dean’s, but it didn’t stop him from answering. 

“Their mouths are on their underside, and they eat mussels by wrapping themselves around one and prying the shell open, then they turn their stomachs inside out and suck the mussel back into their body to digest it.” 

“That’s fucking disgusting.” 

Dean yanked his hand out of the rock pool and ignored the disdainful looks that a few parents gave him, because next to him, Cas was laughing so hard that he was shaking with it, and nothing was better than seeing Cas flushed with his head tipped back as his laughter turned from snickering to snorting. They left the rock pools and Dean wiped his hand on Cas’ jeans, which probably shouldn’t have felt as awkward as it did when his palm pressed over Cas’ thigh. 

“So… are we okay?” Dean asked tentatively as they moved into the next section of the aquarium. Castiel sat down on a bench facing the jellyfish tank before nodding. 

“I’m sorry about – I was hard on you about it, I overreacted.” Cas slumped over a little as Dean sat down next to him. He thought he’d be happy to hear Cas admit that he went kind of crazy over the past few days, but somehow the remorseful frown just made Dean feel guilty. 

“It’s fine man, let’s just forget about the whole thing – okay?” He bumped his shoulder into Cas’, and the upturn of his lips washed away whatever uneasiness Dean may have been harbouring. 

“I love the jellyfish.” Cas breathed softly, leaning his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands. His eyes followed their fluid movements, the rhythmic contraction of their bodies as they propelled through the water. 

“Yeah? What makes jellyfish so cool then?”

“They’re older than dinosaurs.” 

“What else?”

“They don’t have a brain, skeletal structure, or nervous system. All they have is primitive eye-sight.” 

“What else?” 

“Are you making fun of me?” His eyes were narrowed but Dean could still see the amusement there, beneath the uncertainty. It was all Dean could do to smile and shake his head, not wanting to the break the silence that fell over them when Cas turned back to the tank. 

Dean wasn’t watching the jellyfish anymore; he couldn’t look away from Castiel. He looked calmer than Dean had ever seen him, and such a content lightness to his feature that he actually looked seventeen years old for once. Dean knew he should have turned away by now, but it had become impossible to tear his eyes away. The changing light from the tank basked Castiel in soft veils of purples and blues and greens, and it made Dean feel as though he really were underwater. It was like drowning in too much Castiel, after spending the day drinking him in he was beginning to choke. So much had happened within the confines of this place; Cas had put his trust in him and taken him back and was acting as though it was nothing, and now Dean’s lungs with filling up with the hugeness of it all. 

“What is it?” The fond concern in Cas’ eyes was enough to drain Dean’s lungs, but he was still left with a tight throat and a knot in his gut. His mouth was dry and he didn’t trust his voice to be anything but raspy, so he just shook his head again and shrugged. Cas frowned a little, but it disappeared as soon as he went back to watching the jellyfish. 

This time when Dean watched Cas, he no longer felt like he was drowning in a sea of foreign feelings, but instead, Cas was an anchor to stop him washing away. Dean was starting to realise the root of their problems was usually when he stamped out the rush of affection he felt after hearing Cas’ laugh, or the light-headedness that came with seeing Cas _really_ grin. Whenever Dean distanced himself from these things, one of them always ended up snapping and they’d be back to square one. So when Cas lips quirked into a small smile and Dean’s stomach flipped, he let the warmth gather and settle there until he was staring at his friend with a gooey kind of smile. 


	10. Chapter 10

“Get out of bed, Cas.” 

There was an incoherent grumbling from the other end of the call as Cas audibly pulled the sheets over his head. “Fuck off.” 

“Get up and put some clothes on, or God help me, I will drive over there and pour cold water on you!” Dean balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could cut up the pancakes on his plate, while Cas grunted a string of curses in the background. Cas was most definitely not a morning person, although he was pushing what actually counted as ‘morning’. 

“What do you want, Dean?” He sighed, sounding a little less murderous but just as groggy. 

“We’re going to Pamela’s house, her parents are out of town.” 

“Why do I get the feeling that this is not negotiable?” 

“Because it’s not – you _swore_ that the next time we did this you would come! Don’t be such a prude, Cas--” 

“I’m not a prude!” Dean chuckled at the defensiveness in Cas’ voice and scooped a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “Fine, I’ll see you later.” Dean made some kind of noise in agreement before Cas hung up, and he ignored the small buzzing that made its way through his fingers. 

A little while later, Sam came into the kitchen and immediately clocked the stack of pancakes that Mary had left on the table; the pile significantly smaller since Dean had found them. Sam waited until he was sitting down and pouring out syrup, to give Dean the ultimate look of concern. Dean ignored it at first, but when Sam almost overflowed his plate with syrup because he wasn’t watching, Dean piped up. 

“Sam, whatever it is that you wanna say, just spit it out already.” 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked tentatively, treading lightly in case Dean decided to bite his head off. “It’s just, I don’t know, it sounded like you had a pretty bad nightmare last night--” 

“So?” Dean looked away and stared at his plate as his cheeks and ears began to burn up. He didn’t even want to ask how Sam knew he had a terrifying dream; he just wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. 

“ _So_ , you were talking a lot and it was mostly one-sided gibberish to me, but you were so worked up that I heard you from my bedroom.” Sam’s eyes were worried and scared, and he’d pushed away his pancakes to focus all of his attention on Dean, but as always, Dean didn’t want it. 

“Can you just get to the point?” He snapped; it was unnecessarily harsh, but Sam had a way of working himself into Dean’s head to try to fix all of his problems. The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to know what had been relentlessly picking at his mind since the day at the aquarium. 

“I tried not to listen but, well, you mentioned a few names. Repeatedly.” Dean froze in place as he realised what this was leading to. The mortification swept through his body like a fast-moving plague infecting every cell, his mouth too dry to even respond. “You were talking about Cas a lot, but I heard you mention Cassie too, even Bobby and Dad…” 

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat and grabbed his plate, taking it to the sink just so he’d have something to do. He yanked the dishwasher open, and had to make a conscious effort not to smash everything else in there. 

“Are you scared Cas is going to leave?” 

Dean gripped the edge of the counter so hard that his knuckles turned white and it dug into his palm, but it was better than having to face Sam as he gradually fell apart. It was times like this, Dean thought, that Sam being so smart was more trouble than it was worth. He wondered why he hadn’t been blessed with a little brother with the observational skills of a worm. 

“Dean, Bobby had to move away, you know that.” Dean just wanted Sam to stop talking, it was as if his voice was scooping out the contents of Dean’s body and the more he said, the harder it would be to fix afterwards. “Cassie wasn’t your fault; it was never going to last forever. And Dad didn’t leave – he always came back.” 

“I don’t, what do you--” 

“Cas isn’t just going to disappear, okay?” Sam sounded so adamant, and had so much faith in the idea that Dean almost wanted to believe it. Almost.

“He wants to though. He doesn’t want to stay here.” Dean voice was quiet and uncertain next to Sam’s, and he didn’t mean to say anything at all, it just slipped out in a hurry. 

“Yeah, he does, but he’s not going anywhere without you.” Sam breathed a sigh, and Dean imagined the sad smile that Sam was probably giving him. He waited until he heard the door shut to fist his hands in his hair and groan, kicking at the kitchen table as his throat closed up and tears brimmed his eyes.

 

********

 

Dean hadn’t even knocked on the door before Pamela swung it open and broke into a grin. “Dean,” she drawled out his named as she stepped aside to let him in. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, I had to drop off Sam at his friend’s house on the way.” It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it took two hours for Dean to get his shit together after talking with Sam. 

“I’m going to warn you from now – you’re gonna flip your shit when you see Cas!” Pamela was shaking her head and hurried into the kitchen, Dean following closely behind with a sudden churning in his stomach. 

“You’re here,” It turned out that Dean had jumped to conclusions when he assumed Castiel had somehow impaled himself or already drunk himself into a coma before he’d arrived. Because here he was, beaming at Dean so brightly that his eyes crinkled with it, and his face a mess of flour and cocoa powder. “We’re making brownies.” 

“Yeah… I can see that.” It was one of the weirdest scenes Dean had ever come across; Jo was melting chocolate in a bowl above the stove, Ash was beating eggs and sugar together, and Cas was sifting flour, cocoa powder, and baking powder. “What’s – what is going on?” 

“ _Special_ brownies, Dean.” Pamela pulled out a baggie with the dregs of weed left in it, and waved it in Dean’s face, before beckoning him to sit at the table with her. “Doesn’t he look adorable?” She whispered into Dean’s ear, nodding her head at Castiel. 

“He agreed to do this?” Dean was skirting the question, but Pamela said nothing of it and just scoffed lightly. 

“He’s all over the idea, wants to experience new things and shit.” She smirked and wiggled her eyebrows, bumping her shoulder into Dean’s when he rolled his eyes at her.

Dean watched Pamela order the others around while wearing an actual chef’s hat – he didn’t even want to ask _why_ she had one. It was nice seeing how nicely Cas meshed together with Dean’s friends, and it made him feel almost giddy with satisfaction. His whole life had transformed in just five months, but in a way it felt like nothing had changed at all; now he just had four friends to goof around with instead of three.

 

********

 

“How long does it take for these to kick in?” 

Ash was strewn across the sofa with total inelegance as he whined, and Jo batted his hand away as he reached for another brownie. 

“You can’t eat more than one at a time!” Dean and Cas both turned to look at Jo, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. 

“Is this – are you kidding?” Cas shot a panicked look at Dean; as if this was some joke they were all in on apart from him - the guy looked like a deer in headlights.

“How many did you eat?” Jo asked slowly, an edge of irritation in voice, because she really couldn’t leave Dean and Castiel unattended without expecting something to go horribly wrong. 

“Two?” Jo gave Cas a look that was scarily similar to ones Ellen had given Dean in the past. “Okay, uh, five.” He squealed when Jo reached over and whacked him across the back of his head, and sunk lower down into the sofa. “Dean ate five too…” 

They spent the next hour sprawled out in the living room, listening to the radio and generally complaining about nothing coming of the brownies. In the end, the others ate four more each to compensate, and Pam eventually moved on to beer as well. 

“Someone put better music on – I can’t bear to listen to this shit anymore!” Pamela whined, waving her hand in the general direction of the radio. 

It was only when Dean stood up to switch the radio off that he realised the brownies _were_ working; the whole room was spinning around him and he flopped straight back down again. It was like they’d suddenly hit him, he was noticing the way his head couldn’t balance and his limbs felt heavy and his eyes couldn’t focus fast enough. 

“Guys,” he started, trying to blink away the dizziness of everything, “guys, I am so – I’m so fucked. Someone else do it.” And apparently that was hilarious because they were all _giggling_ , and then just looking at each other’s blazed expressions made them laugh harder, until they didn’t even remember what was supposed to be so funny in the first place. 

Cas stood up instead, and swayed on his feet a little, pausing to readjust his balance before going over to the dresser. He switched the radio off and docked his ipod instead, leaving it to play on shuffle. A delicate guitar intro filled the room and Cas turned it up, the increased volume letting Dean feel each twang of a guitar string in his bones. He tipped his head back against the couch as raspy and almost fragile vocals kicked in and Pamela sang along breathily. 

“Come on, Cas, ask a girl to dance.” Pamela drawled, her voice extra lazy and smooth. 

It wasn’t the first time Dean had tried weed, but his previous experience of toking on shared spliffs was nothing in comparison to this. His ears felt like their sensitivity had been amped up all the way, and his head seemed too heavy and too light at the same time. 

“I don’t know how to dance.” 

Pamela chuckled to herself and pushed up out of the armchair, going over to Cas. She reached out and grabbed his hand, before pulling him into the centre of the room. Castiel looked at her with a thoroughly entertained expression, but allowed her to position his left hand on her waist and his right in her own hand. 

They fumbled around for a while, tripping over each other’s feet and bursting into fits of laughter; which was still more composed than Dean, Jo, and Ash, who were in hysterics at the sheer sight of them. 

“Dean, get over here! Help Cas learn how to lead – it needs a man’s touch.” She untangled herself from Cas and waited for Dean to come over. She patted him on the back and shot him a wink, followed by a sneaky slap of Cas’ ass. 

Dean stood immobile in front of Cas, who was smiling at Dean with relaxed contentment. Dean wasn’t really sure how to approach this, whether he should just grasp Cas’ hand and push straight past any awkwardness, or pass him off to Ash. 

“Clock’s ticking, Dean-o, don’t be the blushing virgin here!” Dean rolled his eyes at Pamela’s jibe and slipped his hand into Cas’, falling into the same position Pamela had just vacated. 

“Just – just try and match me okay, step forwards where I step back.” Cas nodded and looked down to watch the path of Dean’s feet, but he’d reached the point where he’d loosened up too much, and Dean thought he might have to start propping his limbs up. 

“Why do people do this?” Cas laughed, looking back up at Dean with a toothy grin and disbelief plastered all over his face. In the process, he stepped on Dean’s foot again and tripped over himself, almost faceplanting into the floorboards. Dean caught him by the elbow and hauled him up, his cheeks and stomach aching with the never-ending laughter that ensued. 

The song changed, brash and heavy guitar riffs flooding the room with fast-paced drumbeats that sounded like guns firing. Without thinking twice, Dean grabbed Cas’ again and spun him around in circles, before reeling him back into to dance with exaggerated energy to match the music. Dean couldn’t even laugh anymore, he was just wheezing as Cas shouted along to the song and their dancing switched to jumping and playing air-guitar to the solos, before Dean tackled him into the couch. 

They lay there for a while, heavy breaths evening out as runaway tears dried on their cheeks. It only got worse from that point onwards, wherein more dancing was carried out. At one point Ash and Jo were standing on the coffee table as they belted out Paradise City to each other at the top of their lungs. A couple hours later, Pamela disappeared for a minute, only to re-enter the room with an armful of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. 

They all knocked back shot after shot – all but Dean and Cas, who were too busy raiding the kitchen to quell their sudden surge of munchies. So while Jo, Ash, and Pamela were mixing their substances with little thought, Dean and Cas were eating whipped cream from the can and finishing off a half-eaten banoffee pie. When they went back to the living room the atmosphere had done a complete 180; the three of them had made a nest of cushions and pillows on the floor in front of the television, and were watching cartoons with glazed, red eyes. 

“Well you guys are just the life of the party!” Dean mumbled before heading straight back for the kitchen after Pam flipped him off. 

Cas went over to the glass doors that led out back, and stopped just short of pressing his face against them. “Let’s go outside, I wanna go on the trampoline.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, but when Cas slid the door open he made sure to grab some blankets from the cupboard before following Castiel out into the humid air. Dean wasn’t sure when the sun had set and the sky had become so dark, but it was empty of any clouds and a slither of the moon shone brightly. Cas went straight to the trampoline and hauled himself up, not even waiting for Dean before launching himself into bounce after bounce. 

The jumping made Dean feel even stranger, as though his head might roll clean off and his hands would dissolve and his legs would give way. After a few sloppily executed flips, Dean decided he needed a time out to make sure he wasn’t going to die some bizarre death. He went to lie on his back, arms behind his head, only to have Castiel plop down next to him and mirror his position. 

Nothing followed for a while, they just lay together in silence staring up at the expanse of near-black sky, littered and illuminated by a blanket of stars. The absence of any clouds made them look more vibrant than usual, and higher in number, and Dean thought about all the times he and Sam had done this at the lake or on the hood of the Impala.

“When I was younger, my dad used to tell me that the stars were all angels-”

“All of them?” Dean looked up and tried to count the bursts of light in the sky, but he kept recounting the same ones and gave up, deciding that it would be impossible to even try. 

“Yeah, every single one. So anyway, he said that we all have a star that is ours, and there’s an angel for all of us. And I used to stare out of the skylight in my bedroom every night and just lie there, searching for my star. ” Dean let Cas’ voice fill the air around him; it was smooth and thick with nostalgia, but almost bordering on bitter. “He said I’d know when I saw it, but I didn’t, I don’t think I ever found it and I always thought something must be wrong with me.” 

Dean watched Cas as he squinted up into the sky and wasn’t so sure he should be stepping into this territory – he didn’t want to send a stoned Castiel off on a tangent about religion and God and all the topics that made Dean’s skin crawl. He didn’t have anything against what people wanted to believe in, he just couldn’t stand when they used it to justify them being total assholes – Zachariah being a perfect example. So he settled for the safest comment he could think of. 

“Cas, there are like, a lot of stars. I mean _a lot_. There’s no way you could have seen them all, y’know?” Cas seemed to puff out a laugh at this, and Dean saw a small smile on his face as he began to laugh at his reply – one that really wasn’t funny at all - except suddenly it did seem hilarious that Cas had thought he’d scanned all the stars in the universe and came up empty. It was entirely laughable that the guy thought he was exposed to every single one through the rectangular glass of his skylight. 

They were laughing for minutes, clutching their stomachs as the muscles in their abdomens tightened with their increased hysteria, but it felt like an hour had passed before they could calm down, Cas’ expression becoming solemn again. “He also said that when you see a shooting star, it’s an angel falling from Heaven. But how is that possible? Why would God make a punishment so beautiful?” 

“There was a shooting star that night,” Cas turned to look at Dean quizzically, before propping himself up on his elbow, “the night you -- you found me, saved me, or whatever.” 

Cas’ eyebrows pulled together as he tried to make sense of what Dean was saying – but the pot made his voice sound like velvet rippling through the air, slipping through Cas’ ears like strips of silk, and he realised that he was only hearing the sounds and not the actual words leaving Dean’s mouth. 

“What? I don’t…” Dean also moved onto his side, mirroring Cas’ position, and smiled at his expression of thorough confusion. Even lying horizontally, the guy could still tilt his head like a curious puppy.

“Okay, so what if not everyone has a star, because the angels fall so they can help people here?” Cas may have been intoxicated, but his brain was still lit up enough to piece together everything Dean had said, his frown increasingly deepening as realization began to hit him. 

“You think I was meant to save you? You think I’m your – your _angel_?” Cas’ eyes were wide and unblinking, a little unnerving if anything, and the moonlight shined in them eerily, its silver reflection in the navy of his irises. 

Dean bit down on his lip and averted his gaze to a magnolia tree behind Cas, feeling the heat rush to his face quickly. “Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid....” Dean continued mumbling and Castiel continued to stare – the way it usually went with them. Dean was trying to conceal the embarrassment surging through him, because everything was making total sense in his own mind, but then as soon as it left his mouth it came out sort of ridiculous. Except what alarmed him more was that the idea of Castiel being his guardian angel didn’t sound all that ridiculous. He did pull him out of a horrific beating, and it’s not as if that was the only time. Cas was always popping up with intentions of helping Dean, and ever since that night he’d been extremely wary of any trouble coming Dean’s way. 

When he looked at Cas again he almost wished he hadn’t. Suddenly there seemed to be much less distance between them, and Dean was caught under Cas’ intense stare as it bore into him. Except it seemed so different from other times: it was lax and tender and absolutely full of disbelief and awe.  Dean’s skin started to prickle – he didn’t know what he’d done to warrant this look but he was convinced that whatever it was, it wasn’t deserving of _this._

Dean knew that he should look away – that he was probably overstepping and crossing into dangerous waters. But there was something compelling about the way Cas’ warm breath fell onto his cheek, leaving behind a lingering sensation with each puff. He saw Cas’ eyes half closed and heavy lidded, knowing it was a side effect from the weed, but almost hoping it was for another reason too. _No - stop,_ Dean thought, hastily shoving that notion to the back of his mind in a very dark and dusty corner.

He tore his stare away from Cas’ eyes, thinking it would allow him to gain some levelheadedness, but made the mistake of looking at Cas’ mouth instead. Dean watched as his tongue slid out to swipe over his perpetually dry lips. And then his lips were moving and Dean _knew_ he was talking, but for the life of him he could not hear a thing over the blood rushing in his ears. On top of that, his brain felt like it had been sautéed or scrambled because he didn’t even register the distance closing in until Castiel had actually pressed his mouth on his own and was definitely kissing him. 

Dean decided he absolutely ate too many brownies because he was kissing Cas back with no hesitation; in fact he wanted to give Cas everything and very quickly slipped his tongue into Cas’ mouth and kissed him lazily and open. Dean tried to catalogue his taste – faint hints of chocolate, weed, cinnamon, and something else he couldn’t quite place, something spicy and refreshing at once. 

They were still supporting themselves on their elbows but it was an awkward position, and Dean was ready to push Cas onto his back when he pulled away and collapsed of his own accord. Dean wiped the pout clean off his face as soon as he realised it was there, and frowned at Cas splayed out on his back next to him. He had a small smile, one that looked like he knew a secret, and he blinked slowly before shutting his eyes completely.

“I’m so sleepy,” Cas rubbed the heel of his hands in his eyes and tried to keep them open long enough to cast a glance at Dean, “I feel like I’m about to hibernate for a millennia.” He fidgeted around a little and put his hands behind his head. 

“It’s like 2:00 A.M.” 

“You don’t understand! My eyeballs feel like dried up prunes - prunes that have been dipped in, I don’t even -- dipped in vinegar, or something.”

“Dude, you are baked as a freakin’ cake, you know that?” Cas made a humming sound in affirmation before rolling over onto his side, curling up into himself. “Do you wanna go inside before you pass out?” Cas just shook his head and made an unintelligible grumbling in protest. Dean sighed and pulled up the blankets that were tossed at their feet to cover their bodies, and lay down next to Cas. Now that he’d actually stopped talking he felt the drowsiness wash over him as well, but not before Cas shuffled over to press into Dean’s body, resting his face against the side of his chest. 

Dean scrubbed at his face with his palm and hoped to God that this was all just a crazy, drug-fuelled dream and nothing more, otherwise everything was about to get a lot more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody is interested in the song Castiel/Pam/Dean dance to, I had in mind California Daze by Peace when I wrote it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUQEoL2Cn4s


	11. Chapter 11

When Dean woke up his skin was already prickling with the heat of the sun shining down on him. The bright light slipped past his eyelids and forced him completely out of any sleep. He remembered rolling over a few times last night in a feeble attempt to find a more comfortable spot on the trampoline, but when he turned over this time Cas was already gone. He frowned and looked at the empty space where his friend had fallen asleep against the outline of his body, now replaced by a tangle of abandoned blankets. 

He and Cas had kissed. That was the only thing Dean could think about, and the thought was chasing itself around his head and threatened to burn the place down. He knew he could lie to himself – and Cas – and say that it was entirely meaningless, that it only happened because they were pretty far gone. But he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling of his stomach dropping when he’d realised Cas was gone, or the clenching warmth in his chest as he remembered the previous night.

 Dean thought about what Cas had told him on the night of Michael’s party, about dismissing the constraints of labels and just liking who the hell you want to like, regardless. He’d _enjoyed_ kissing a guy - and if he’d got his way last night they probably would have done a lot more of it – and he was yet to have a crisis and freak out over this one thing. If anything, all of the things Dean knew about his and Cas’ relationship seemed to begin piecing together properly now, as if they were scattered and blurred before this revelation. Now he could place the irritation that swept over him when he saw Cas with girls, the unnecessarily strong dislike for Crowley (or at least _partly_ unnecessary), the way his knuckles went white when Cas stuck his tongue in Meg’s mouth.

 It took him a while to grasp just how big this was, and it only happened as he realised there was a deep-rooted disappointment in his gut that he didn’t wake up to his friend’s face in front of him, with his sinewy frame sticking into his side at an awkward angle. Dean sat up; rubbing at his eyes, and ran his fingers through his short hair. He lazily flopped off the trampoline and shuffled over to the kitchen door, slipping inside as the smell of bacon and eggs hit him. 

Jo and Chuck were slumped at the kitchen table with glasses of water at their sides and plates piled high with food in front of them. They both had their heads on the table, resting on their crossed arms, but looked up briefly as Dean entered the room. 

“Slam that door and I will _kill_ you, Winchester.” Jo grumbled with a sharp edge to her groggy voice, Dean scoffed but slid the door shut carefully nonetheless.

“Where’s Cas?” 

“Gone,” Chuck answered without even lifting his head, “left a good half hour ago.” 

Dean tried to react to this indifferently, but truth be told he was entirely dejected.  He reminded himself that it wasn’t a big deal, it didn’t mean anything – Cas was always disappearing at the worst of times and reappearing out of nowhere. Besides, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the conversation that would inevitably arise from last night’s kiss. 

He stayed for breakfast, shovelling down an obscene amount of Pamela’s bacon and scrambled eggs, as well as half a carton of orange juice. Ash and Jo were worse for wear, and would probably never drink _that_ much alcohol after _that_ much weed ever again – unless they actually wanted to spend more days with pounding headaches and constant waves of nausea. 

Dean didn’t hang around for too long; his mind was focused on other things and he couldn’t even appreciate the blueberry pancakes that Jo made later on, or the marathon of his favourite cartoon on the TV. All he wanted to do at this point was to get into his own bed and have himself a comfortable power nap – and by nap he meant four-hour snooze. 

But of course Pamela had to corner him just as he reached the front door.

“Something’s different about you,” she started, an intrigued glint in her eye as she stared Dean down, “and I have a sneaky suspicion what it is.” 

Dean rolled his eyes at her smug smirk, and dug around in his pockets for his car keys. “No, you don’t.” 

“Suit yourself.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him and strolled away, leaving Dean even more of a mess than he already was.

 

********

Sam wanted to go to the aquarium. 

Out of nowhere, he was going through a fish phase – or more accurately, an “everything that lives in water is so freakin’ amazing” phase. And since their parents had stopped taking them to the aquarium when Sam was nine years old, the responsibility landed on Dean. 

Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t particularly bother him. He didn’t have anything planned and he and Sam hadn’t been on any outings of brotherly bonding for a while. But as soon as Sam brought it up the only thing Dean could think about was the last time he was at the aquarium; listening to Cas lay himself bare and rattle off pointless facts. The last time he was at the aquarium he discovered the difference between friendship and _total_ adoration. 

He sucked it up though, and even let Sam choose the music on the way there.

The only reason this was all so hard, was because Dean hadn’t seen Cas once since they kissed. He’d tried calling him again and again, but each time he’d drum his fingers impatiently as he waited through the ringing, and was greeted by Cas’ voicemail. He’d left Cas messages and texts asking to hang out, but never got a reply of any sort.

Dean felt like he was dangling in limbo. He didn’t know whether Cas was angry with him, was angry with himself, or was just plain confused. Either way, if Castiel would just pick up his goddamn phone they could sort that out. Instead, Dean had spent the past week pining shamelessly. He’d never consumed so much comfort food in his life, and he didn’t even want to talk about how much _Dr Sexy_ he’d been watching. He just wanted Cas to act like himself again, and reassure Dean that he wasn’t a disposable pair of lips in the heat of the moment. 

It’s not as though Dean was expecting Cas to show up at his door with an armful of flowers, a box of chocolates, and a single rose clenched between his teeth. He didn’t even want to be Cas’ anything right now, Dean just wanted to see the fond looks Cas would give him, and hear him talk about Dante and Shakespeare. He wanted to drive out of town with Cas in the passenger seat of the Impala, where he always looked the most relaxed, and listen to the Jimmy Eat World tape that Cas had made him as they passed by fields and forests. He wanted what he already had before, not realising how significant it all was until he’d lost it. 

And sure, he wanted to kiss Cas some more too. 

And probably some more stuff after the kissing.

“Dude, hurry up.” 

Dean had been staring at the jellyfish tank for at least ten minutes, and now Sam was whining in his ear and elbowing him in the ribs. Dean was pretty sure that when he was thirteen he didn’t act like an annoying toddler. 

Sam was already wandering off again though, and Dean took the opportunity to head down to the tunnel to see the sharks. As much as he liked the other tanks, nothing would ever beat the sharks for him. He had spent many a Shark Week glued to the television with his dad, trying to coax Mary into bringing them snacks so they didn’t miss anything. 

Unlike last time, the tunnel was bustling with people, all silhouetted against the blue glow behind the glass.  Kids had their faces squashed against the tunnel sides, families were trying not to lose one another, and everyone was shuffling forward at a snail’s pace. Sam wouldn’t have reached here yet, he’d be taking his time with every single tank, so Dean planned to take a seat on a bench and wait it out. 

Most of them were packed full already, except for the middle one which only had one other person on it. But when Dean approached it, he instantly recognised the mop of unruly hair and the crumpled button-up shirt. By some stroke of luck, Dean had stumbled into the same place as Cas, at the same time, after days of trying to track him down. He sat down next to Castiel and shoved at his shoulder. 

“Dude, where have you been? It’s like you fell off the face of the earth or something!” 

“Dean.” Castiel looked shocked to see him here, and his eyes darted away before he continued. “I, uh, I haven’t been out much.” 

“Right…” Dean could sense the discomfort between them, it was like thick smoke rising up, gradually building until it filled up their lungs and became suffocating. “Look, about what happened at Pamela’s, I just--” 

“It’s fine, we don’t need to talk about it. Both of us were extremely high, and we should probably just forget it even happened.” 

Dean searched Cas’ voice for a waver or a stutter or _any_ sign that he was just nervously spewing bullshit. But every word was as level as the next: cool, calm, and collected.

His mouth was hanging open, but none of the words he wanted to say would come out. What could he possibly respond to that with anyway? Dean felt like he’d taken a baseball bat to the chest – he’d spent all this time coming to terms with the fact that he liked his best friend as more than a friend, and was accepting what had been staring him in the face for the past few months. He didn’t want to push the feeling away anyway, he wanted Cas to look at him like he did on the trampoline. He wanted Cas to grab him by the collar and kiss him like did Meg. He wanted Cas to admit that he felt the same way. 

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, yeah – I’m fine. Are you sure about – we really shouldn’t talk about it?” 

Cas nodded curtly, and stood up. “I need to go, Zachariah wants me to help out at the church with him today.” He hung around for a few seconds awkwardly, a conflicted look on his face and his hands pushed deep into his pockets. “See you around.” 

He walked briskly out of the tunnel and Dean couldn’t bring himself to watch him go. He was forced to dwell on the thought that haunted the back of his mind; that he’d crossed a line. A line that Cas wanted to stay behind. Dean tried to ignore it at first; he replayed his conversation with Sam before Pamela’s like a mantra, over and over again in his head. Cas wasn’t going anywhere without him. 

But that was before – and now Dean was filled with overwhelming dread that Cas was going to pull away from him, create some distance to make sure Dean knew he had it all wrong. If felt like Cassie all over again, and Dean was conditioned to fight that feeling with booze and hook-ups. Cassie was the one to get spooked when Dean admitted how strongly he felt, and he had to watch her gradually slip away from him, until she called the whole thing off. History was bound to repeat itself, and apparently when it did, it hit ten times harder than the first time. 

“Is everything alright?” 

Sam was back again, with a concerned expression that only made Dean’s heart sink even further. He couldn’t deal with that look on Sam’s face; it made him feel bad just being the reason for it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You wanna go home, Sammy?”


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was gently shaken awake, and he blinked in confusion as he blearily stared up at Mary hovering above him. She placed a glass of water and a couple of aspirin on his bedside table, and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Are we going to talk about what’s going on?” She asked with a solemn expression, although her soft eyes and voice of concern were completely overriding it.

“Not if I can help it.”

“I don’t know if you remember, but you were in a state last night.” The sympathy was leaving her words and agitation started to seep through as her voice grew louder. “You came home a total wreck!”

Dean leaned over and grabbed the water, swallowing both of the aspirin just to occupy himself. She wasn’t exaggerating – Dean had stumbled through the door at some early hour with an accompanying stench of booze and self-deprecation. He didn’t remember all that much, actually, just trying to act sober in front of his parents until he could escape to the bathroom upstairs and throw up the contents of his stomach. Evidently, he didn’t do such a great job of being subtle after all.

“Dad’s angry, isn’t he?”

“Of course he’s angry, but Dean, he’s worried too – we’re both worried about you. This is the second time in a week, and you can’t keep doing this.”

Dean hadn’t even sat up yet; he just dragged a pillow over his face and prayed for this conversation to end already. He hadn’t even finished when Mary snatched the pillow from him and threw it over the side of the bed.

“If you don’t get your act together and tell me what’s going on right now, I’m giving you a 9PM curfew for the rest of summer.” Dean groaned at the prospect of this, but Mary simply gave him a stern look that told him not to push his luck.

“I just – I don’t know how to explain, I can’t--”

“Is this something you need to talk to your dad about?”

“No! No – definitely not. He does not need to know about this, at all.”

“Does this have anything to do with Castiel?”

Dean froze, the pure shock preventing him from acting nonchalant and brushing the question off with ease. Not that he’d been particularly good at that anyway; he usually ended up snapping for a change in conversation whenever it came up.

“Why – why would you think that?”

Mary raised an eyebrow and scrutinised Dean carefully, before speaking slower than before. “He used to be over here all the time, I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

“Well go ahead and join the club.” Dean huffed, feeling faint anger bubbling in him already. He’d reached the stage where he alternated between torturing himself over this new distance between him and Cas, and being almost livid with him and what he was doing.

“Did you guys have a fight?”

“No, we didn’t, we just uh, we--” Mary watched him expectantly, a hint of something else in her unreadable expression, maybe even the ghost of a _smile_. Dean was so caught off-guard that he ended up spluttering out the truth in a hurry. “We kissed.”

Dean waited for the rush of the questions, the enquiries about when he started liking boys, and how long he’d liked Castiel like that, and whether Castiel was even the first guy. But they didn’t come. Mary just slipped her hand over Dean’s and let her face soften again, because right now he needed just his mother instead of an authority figure.

“And it didn’t work out?”

“It hasn’t had the chance – Cas will barely talk to me. He wants to forget about it – thinks it was a mistake.”

“Oh sweetie, Castiel is a lovely boy and I’m sure he’s not trying to deliberately hurt you.” Dean rolled his eyes, because that’s exactly what it felt like. “But you need to tell him how you feel.”

Dean nodded, although he was fairly sure there was little chance of him acting on that advice. The very thought of bringing that up in conversation was bad enough, but what was worse, was the thought of having spilled his guts out only to have Cas throw it back in his face – no _thank you_.

“And if you think you can’t tell your father about this - how you feel about Cas – you’re wrong. He won’t see you in a different light or think worse of you, he just wants to understand, that’s all.”

 

********

 

It took Dean the rest of the week to coerce Castiel into seeing him, mostly because he was too stubborn to consider the advice his mother gave him. She told Dean to talk to Cas, to get everything out in the open and work out how the two of them felt, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. Although since then, at least Cas was answering his texts now and again.

Dean was sitting in the Impala procrastinating, and listening to one of his newest mixtapes. He was rolling his phone around his hands and thinking of all the reasons he _shouldn’t_ call Cas, when speak of the devil, Cas’ favourite Jimmy Eat World song started playing. In a wave of intense irritation, Dean ejected the tape and practically ripped it from the player before throwing it into the shoebox in the footwell. 

He was not going to act like a whiny bitch about this.

“Come on, come on, don’t be a dick.” Dean muttered as he brought his phone to his ear. On the fourth ring, Castiel actually picked up.

“Dean?”

“Hey, look we should hang out. I’ve barely seen you and I’ll be honest – it’s pretty annoying. So get out of bed, and we can go to the lake and get back to normal.”

Cas was silent on the other end, and Dean could just imagine the conflicted frown on his face as he deliberated it.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good, great – I’ll come by your place now.”

“I’m not at home.” Dean waited for Cas to continue, because obviously if he was going to pick Cas up, he needed to know where he was. But Cas just went quiet again.

“So where are you?”

“Crowley’s house.”

Dean inhaled deeply as his other hand tightened into a fist, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm as his knuckles cracked. He was being left behind for _Crowley_ ; if that wasn’t a good kick in the teeth then Dean didn’t know what was. Just the sound of his name was making his blood boil, but all of the rising anger just made Dean determined not to appear pathetic. He unclenched his jaw, and started the engine up. 

“Fine, I’ll pick you up.”

 

********

It was awful.

Dean actually had to knock on Crowley’s door and be subjected to his smug expression while he waited for Cas to get his stuff and go. He tried to ignore the pink flush on Castiel’s cheeks, the fact that his shirt was buttoned up wrong, but it was all staring him in the face. It made him feel sick that someone like Crowley could have Castiel so easily, yet he was punished for even trying.

“Why are you still screwing around with that shithead anyway?” Dean asked when they were inside the car and pulling out of Crowley’s driveway.

“He’s not all bad, we understand each other.” Cas sighed, already sounding thoroughly exasperated.

“My ass…” Dean scoffed. “You’re just two lonely people.”

Cas turned to glower at Dean, his mouth set in a tight line. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Why _are_ you here?”

“To hang out – that’s what you wanted.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh bitterly to himself – this entire idea was already falling to pieces. They could barely survive a car ride, never mind anything more.

Against all odds, it did get slightly better from then on. They made conversation, even if at times it felt forced and fake, and for a few minutes at a time Dean would think he’d rewound time to before the kiss. They walked up to the lake and Cas instantly settled down on the grass just behind the crescent of sand.

Dean sat with him for a while, but when Cas got a book out of his bag and leant back to lie down there was little hope left. Cas would be unreachable to Dean. So he disappeared into the house to dig up some swim shorts that would probably be lying around, and returned to find Cas already engrossed in his book.

“Are you coming in the water?” Dean stood over Cas and cast a shadow over him, and when he looked up, Dean could have sworn his expression twitched or flickered for just a second.

“I don’t think so – I’m reading and I didn’t bring any trunks.”

Dean huffed out a sigh and walked down into the water anyway, trying to dismiss the building anger that was rooting itself inside of him. The surfboard was already floating around in the water, left over from when he’d brought Sam out here a few days ago, and Dean pushed himself up onto it. The two of them never even knew why there was a surfboard stashed at the house when nobody could surf and lakes clearly lacked waves, but it had been used as a makeshift pool lounger since Dean could remember.

Dean tried to preoccupy himself; hummed songs and let the sun tan his skin, but all he could think about was his mother’s voice nagging him to confront Castiel. He couldn’t put it off any longer – after all, he’d invited him here for a reason. 

“Seriously, Cas, get in here right now!” Dean huffed impatiently, trying to produce a pout with puppy-dog eyes that would rival even Sam’s. He only half expected Cas to fall for it, but apparently even that was wishful thinking. 

“I told you already, I’m reading.” Cas didn’t even look up from his book, just kept staring intently at it as if the pages held the secrets to the universe. 

Dean slipped off the board and swam over to the shallow water with quick, smooth strokes. He tried to read Cas’ expression from his closer position – his eyebrows were pulled together in a frown and something else, something that was almost pained. 

“Dude, it’s summer, school is out - what book could possibly be so important that you can’t just chill?” 

“Well, some of us actually enjoy reading in our spare time. I don’t expect you to understand that concept though.” Cas said sourly through gritted teeth, he face was still buried in the crisp pages of his book – which just irritated Dean even further. Cas knew he was talking out of his ass, and if he was trying to get a rise out of Dean, he was going about it the right way. 

Dean made quick strides straight out of the water and over the sand to where Cas lay in the grass. He practically tackled him, shoving his forearm across his friend’s chest to pin him into the ground as he hovered over him, thoroughly aggravated. 

“I have _had_ it with you being a total asshole!” Dean spat, baring his teeth in what could pass for a snarl. Cas now had no other choice than to be face-to-face with Dean, his book tossed aside during the scuffle. “I drove to the other side of town just to pick you up from goddamn _Crowley’s_ house so that we could actually hang out, but you don’t even have the decency to look at me while I bend over backwards trying to salvage this friendship – something you’ve been killing these last few weeks!” 

Dean watched as Cas’ expression faltered from spiteful and hard, to the scared and anxious face of a kid. His eyes were wide open, swimming with a blend of dread and guilt. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and shut it quickly, licking his dry lips and doing nothing to defend himself. Dean’s anger seemed to slip away as he broke down every wall of defence that Castiel had put between them; he was staring up at Dean with a vulnerability that he’d never let himself show before. 

Castiel didn’t have to say he was sorry; he didn’t have to grovel and suck up to Dean to show it, because Dean could see it painted all over his face. But somewhere in all his anger and aggressiveness, Dean’s face had come to be mere millimetres from Cas’. He could feel the warm puffs of breath leaving Cas’ parted lips, couldn’t ignore the heat that radiated through Cas’ shorts. Dean sat down a little firmer and swallowed the lump in his throat when he felt Cas getting hard beneath him. Cas stopped breathing and stilled, praying desperately that Dean hadn’t realised, that he would just throw a few punches and apologise when he felt bad. 

Castiel’s prayer’s were not granted. 

Dean put it down to complete frustration when he finally lost control and kissed Cas in a heated hurry. He was still mad and irritated and hurt, but all of those emotions were too easily swallowed by this desire that had manifested and increasingly developed over the past three weeks. He’d been so patient in his mind - he hadn’t pressed Cas about the night they kissed or asked him for more, but now he wanted to take everything he possibly could. Dean’s lips kept moving as he silently pleaded for Cas to kiss him back with more than what he was feebly giving him. Even that didn’t last long; he was soon pushing at Dean’s chest and trying to create some distance as he pulled away. 

“Don’t do that,” his voice was quiet and shaky, his eyes closed so he didn’t have to look at the dejection in Dean’s face just millimetres away, “please, don’t… I can’t do it.” 

“Why not?” Dean felt sick. He could already feel the nausea rising in his throat and he was sure his hands would be shaking. He’d treated Cas like an elastic band, stretched him too far and thin and now he’d gone too far and Cas was snapping. He was going leave again, this time for good. 

“Because,” Cas’ eyes squeezed shut even tighter and he paused, searching for the right words, “If you have a big gay freak-out and decide you never want to see my face again, I won’t be able to handle that – not after _this_.” Cas opened his eyes again and all Dean could see in them was frightened pleading. “I can’t, Dean, I just can’t…”

Dean sat up straight, frowning, as things seemed to piece together and make more sense. “Is that why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” Dean’s blood was boiling again, the frustration rushing through his veins and putting him on the brink of punching Cas there and then. Instead, Dean exhaled through his nose and grabbed the front of Cas’ t-shirt, lifting his torso off the ground entirely so that they were nose-to-nose. “You’re on my mind all the damn time, okay, and ever since Pamela’s I keep… picturing myself with you. And you threw that in my face!” Dean’s fingers tightened around the fabric balled up in his fists, and he inhaled deeply to dispel the churning in his stomach, the prickly feeling in his palms, the jittering of his heart. “I _want_ you.” 

Dean needed Cas to understand that it was hard enough for Dean to admit to himself when he liked a girl he’d screwed around with, harder still to admit that he liked his best friend in fear of ruining everything, and it got damn near impossible when his best friend was a guy. Dean was shocked to think that Cas believed he was acting on a whim here – when in fact he’d spent many sleepless nights worrying and considering every angle he could go about making this leap. 

Dean’s mind had wandered somewhere else entirely, and he almost yelped in surprise as Cas’ hands clasped on either side of his face and brought their mouths together in a forceful kiss, the sound dying in his throat. There was no easing into this – Cas was making that crystal clear – he was dragging Dean down and leaning up into his chest, trying to close up any distance that might exist between them. And it was the furthest from their first kiss that it could ever be; Cas was kissing Dean as though he might run away at any moment, his fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders and the back of his neck to keep him close. And Cas wasted no time in dallying about this time; his tongue slipped between Dean’s pliant lips and was sliding against Dean’s within seconds. And while last time they took their time in tentatively exploring each other’s mouths, now they were licking and sucking and biting with a purpose; with slow, filthy, and heated intentions. 

Dean didn’t even notice the small circles his hips were making until Cas started pushing up into them, trying to find some purchase and friction in between the bruising kisses. Dean felt like he was suffocating in the sudden humidity of the air, and he couldn’t tell if the weather was just being temperamental or they really were giving heat off like a furnace. Cas’ hands were groping at Dean’s back, fingers sliding down the dip of his spine until they teasingly pressed into the skin just above his waistband.  And then Dean mustered up all the self-restraint he possessed to pull back and get to his feet, dragging Cas up after him. 

“Let’s go,” Dean glanced towards the house and watched as Cas’ expression switched from confused to plain old devious. Cas grabbed Dean by the wrist and pulled him along, walking as if his life depended on it until he was practically breaking out into a jog.

As soon as they were in the door, Cas shoved Dean back against wall without an inch of delicacy - and Dean would be lying if he said it didn’t direct his entire blood flow straight to his dick. The back of his head was stinging with the impact, but he only had a few seconds to gauge the pain before Cas’ mouth was on his again, his kisses wet and desperate and teetering on the right side of painful as he bit down into Dean’s lip.  Dean didn’t even bother trying to get back in control, he could already see that Cas was going to take him on one hell of a ride and there was nothing he could do to change that. So he let breathy moans spill into Cas’ mouth and fumbled at the buttons on his shirt, fingers shaking with anticipation and too full of impatience. As soon as he pushed the shirt from Cas’ torso, Dean worked on ridding him of the stupid seersucker shorts that Dean _hated_ , but was steadily growing to love when they were on Cas.

As Cas stepped out of the shorts he latched on to Dean’s neck, sucking and nipping at the exposed skin when Dean’s head tipped back, and Dean could feel the angry bruises that Cas was staining his skin with; but it only served to get him even more worked up, especially paired with the feeling of Cas’ hard length pressing into his thigh insistently. 

“Shit, Cas,” Dean struggled to get any words out between Cas’ fervent licking and biting, never mind a whole coherent sentence. He pushed at Cas’ chest with more force than he’d usually use, but Cas was barely even fazed by it. Dean yanked his head up roughly by a handful of hair, noting the wide-eyed look on Cas’ face with some interest. “Come on.” He jerked his head towards the bedroom. Cas’ eyes flitted in the same direction before he stepped back a little, giving Dean enough space to grab his wrist and drag him along behind himself. 

Dean tried to calmly power-walk his way towards the double bed, which had never looked so damn inviting in all his life. He made quick work of pulling his trunks off and scrambled to the top of the bed without an ounce of grace, propping himself up against the pillows.

“Wait,” Dean ordered. Cas stopped at the foot of the bed, his head tilted and swimming with the thought that Dean would choose _now_ to freak out. “Take ‘em off,” Dean instructed, voice already low with sheer anticipation. Cas looked down at his underwear, still damp from where Dean’s trunks had pressed against them, and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband. 

“Slowly.” 

Cas looked straight at Dean as he watched him, unable to reign in a smirk as he clocked Dean’s mouth hanging open. Cas inched the waistband further down his hips, taking his time in pushing it all the way past his thighs before shimmying out of them completely– never breaking eye contact. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Dean said softly, gaze scanning the expanse of new skin in front of him, eyes landing on the trail of fine hair beginning below Cas’ navel, and the erection that had consequently slapped against his stomach. “Like a fucking Adonis.” Dean’s mouth went dry as Cas crawled over to hover above him, humming in approval at the comment. He’d yet to fully close in on Dean and was still on his hands and knees, looking down at Dean teasingly through the shadow of his eyelashes. 

“Such a filthy mouth for a beautiful face.” Cas’ voice was guttural now, but it couldn’t mask the curiosity that bled through his words. They rumbled through Dean and ignited yet more heat in his body, making him feel as though he were lying on a bed of scorching rocks rather than a mess of sheets and blankets. 

Cas pushed Dean’s knees further apart and settled between his legs, relishing the melding of their sticky chests and the press of skin as he sank into Dean’s hold, his breath stuttering for a moment as their cocks finally touched and slid against each other. Cas felt the muscles in Dean’s thighs tighten on either side of him, and he took this as a prompt to push his hips into Dean – dragging a rough moan out of him. Dean’s hands quickly slipped below the small of Cas’ back to pull him down harder, Cas’ lips catching his in another clash tongues and teeth.  With every ragged breath and bit-back moan that came from Dean, Cas rolled his hips harder and pressed himself even closer to Dean, all sense of rhythm lost when Dean’s hands found his ass and his fingers spread across the flesh with a firm press. 

The heat from outside seemed breezy compared the house; the windows were all shut and the humidity felt like it had multiplied by twenty. As droplets of sweat beaded on their skin, Dean wished he’d taken the time to get the air-con fixed before the height of summer had hit. Instead, he began to get light headed as the heat increased with every slide of their bodies, sweat mingling and slipping between them. 

“Dean,” Cas breathed against his lips, repeating it like a mantra as he rocked against him, “You’re perfect – you’re so perfect to me.” And even though it would be against all logic given their current position, Dean felt as if every drop of blood in his body rushed to his face and left him even redder and more flushed than he already was. He couldn’t listen to that, he didn’t know how to handle sweet nothings and declarations of adoration – not from Cas anyway, because he knew they were so goddamn sincere. So he worked on a distraction plan and trailed kisses from the juncture between Cas’ neck and shoulder, all the way up to his jaw until he could tug on his earlobe with his teeth. And while yes, Cas was now preoccupied with groans and harder thrusts and feeling his way down the span of Dean’s chest, he was only temporarily thrown off-course. “You’re so bright, and--” Dean was barely making out the words now, their heavy breathing filling his ears and the beat of his own heart roaring over Cas’ rasping voice. “And you’re the only one who can make me feel like this.” 

Dean stared up at the boy above him; all pink cheeks and puffy red lips and dilated pupils. His chest felt like it was constricting in on itself, as though it might literally collapse if Cas continued running his mouth like that, so he caught his mouth in another sloppy kiss and reached his hand between them, only managing to circle his fingers around the tip of Cas’ cock because he would barely remove himself from Dean to make enough room. But he rolled his hips up to meet Cas, harder, faster now, and managed to give him a few strokes and pulls until Cas was trembling above him and his eyes were fucking _rolling back_ as he choked on his moans and spilled into Dean’s hand and his chest and his _chin_. 

Dean thought he’d left the lake house and left Kansas altogether when Cas leant forwards and licked his own come from Dean’s face, before kissing him slowly to let the taste seep into Dean’s mouth. It made Dean felt like he was balancing on a knife’s edge; his thighs were shaking and his chest heaved with the feeling of it being so close, but just not enough. And then Cas was mumbling more things to Dean; more chants of praise and affection that washed over Dean’s head as he used his come to slick his hand before wrapping it around Dean’s cock. And Dean didn’t know what did it; whether it was the fervent pulls of Cas’ fingers or the debauched look that he wore so well, or the blissed-out expressed that adorned his face as he watched Dean writhe beneath him. Whichever it was, Dean’s whole body was arching up into the tremors that shook him as Cas worked him through it, come inelegantly painting the space between their chests. 

When Dean’s limbs went limp and he collapsed back down on the bed, Cas followed suit and sprawled across him, looking at Dean with soft eyes and a sated smile. Dean decided that it was a good look for Cas, and he wanted to see it as many times as he possibly could. He wanted to savour the pink blush that spread across his chest, the masses of hickeys that were now darkening into shades of violet, the slow blinking of his drowsy eyes. Dean stretched over the side of the bed to pick up his trunks and wiped them down quickly, before tossing them back across the room. 

“I think you’re great,” Dean said quietly in Cas’ ear, but it sounded deafening in the silence of the house. The air was still stuffy, but now there was a distinctive musk of sex that lingered in it. “You know that, right?” Cas nodded and his smile extended into an all-out grin, the rare kind that made him look like a Cheshire cat. They stayed in the same spot, legs and arms twisted around one another as they dragged their fingertips across more skin and chaste kisses were exchanged, before they drifted into sleep.

 

****

 

Dean woke up around two hours later; the day spent in the blaring sun and the sex that followed having completely knocked him out. He buried the side of his face further into the pillow and listened to the heavy patter of rain outside. He usually disliked storms in summer; the kind that came after a muggy and hot day and only lasted half an hour at the most, but still managed to ruin all of his plans. Today was different though, he welcomed the storm with open arms because it meant he would have to stay cooped up in the lake house with Cas until it eventually ended. 

Dean cracked an eye open and wasn’t altogether surprised that Cas was watching him sleep. It probably wasn’t even the first time.

“How long have you been staring at me?” 

“Sorry.” The room had darkened considerably and the sun setting outside tinged it with a magenta glow, but Dean could still make out the blush on Cas’ cheeks. 

“No, I mean it’s okay. It’s kind of… endearing.” Dean smiled and thought about reaching out, just touching Cas’ collar bone or pushing back the hair that had curled on his forehead from sweat. He stopped himself, and decided it was still too soon for that; he didn’t want to rush this and risk ruining it for good. 

Apparently Cas didn’t have any such reservations though, because he was already crowding back into Dean’s space and wriggling between all of his limbs again. The dwindling sunlight did nothing to lessen the heat of the room, and Cas’ skin pressed against Dean’s like a hot poker that still glowed red. He touched his fingers to Dean’s chest and watched serenely as they trailed up to his shoulder, stopping to circle in soothing patterns there. Dean noticed the focused look in Cas’ eye as watched his fingers graze over his skin, and couldn’t help but feel he was out of the loop. And then Cas was reaching up to press his lips to the same skin, to brush at the curve of his shoulder and then the slope of it until his lips were dragging at the flesh below his nape, meeting the jut of his shoulder blade. 

“Do you know what I love most about summer?” Cas mumbled, the words dissipating into Dean’s back as his lips moved against it still. Dean just shook his head and hummed inquisitively. “These.” And Dean had no idea what Cas was talking about, if he was even on the same planet anymore, but none of that seemed to compare to the warm pecks that Cas continued to pepper Dean with. And then Dean knew what Cas meant, and he automatically squirmed with embarrassment. 

“My _freckles_?” After spending the better part of yesterday in the sun as well, his shoulders, back, and even arms were swarming with them. They’d never been so prominent before but he’d been spending so much time at the lake with Cas that now they were in full bloom, splattering across the golden tone of his skin. 

Cas smiled so much that Dean felt the imprint of it, felt teeth grazing the surface of his back, and felt the delight radiating from Cas like an aura. He brought his face close to Dean’s, noses touching side by side and lips hovering millimetres apart. 

“It’s like an entire galaxy has been painted on you.” Dean felt the breath from Cas’ mouth ghost over his lips and slip between them, and couldn’t understand why his voice was so soft and low with admiration. “I could spend hours, entire days even, just searching for the constellations in them.” And then his mouth was on Dean’s and he kissed him slow and lazy, tongue gliding along the length of Dean’s lips before he pulled back again. 

And when Cas looked up at Dean again, it was his eyes were bright with a look of complete contentment. 


	13. Chapter 13

Dean knew he was going to have to break the news about him and Cas to his family at some point, he just hoped that day would be a far off prospect that wouldn’t involve any scarring images. Knowing his luck, he’d probably get landed with the complete opposite. Mary, of course, knew already and in reality everyone else should have realised too, but Sam and John were typical Winchester males and failed to clock the difference.

It was a drastic turnaround from the period without Cas – Dean was spending significantly less time holed up in his bedroom, and he wasn’t coming home from heavy drinking sessions in a wrecked stupor. He went back to helping his dad at the garage, drove Sam to his friend’s houses, and even gave him a lengthy pep talk of encouragement before Sam took Jessica to the movies for the first time.

“So, can I safely assume that things went well with Castiel?” Mary asked one morning with a knowing smile.

“ _Mom_.” It was just the two of them in the kitchen, but Dean still didn’t want to relay the whole calamity to her – it wasn’t exactly mother-friendly.

“Okay, I get it, it’s embarrassing!” She laughed and continued putting away plates and glasses from the dishwasher. “What I mean is, you’re obviously much happier than you were.”

“Yeah?”

Mary smiled, but narrowed her eyes at Dean. “Don’t pretend you don’t know – you’ve been cracking jokes every five minutes instead of crying over _Dr. Sexy_ reruns.”

“I was not crying!” He was. It was an intense scene and he was emotionally vulnerable – Dean was adamant that he could not be blamed.

“You are so much like your father; I honestly don’t know what it is with you two or how Sam managed to escape it…” She sighed, sitting down at the table opposite Dean. He frowned back at her, not comprehending.

“In what way?

“You can’t see what’s staring you in the face – you’re just too emotionally stunted and oblivious!” Dean sulked at this, but Mary only rolled her eyes and rested her chin on her hands. “Not like that; you both put everything you have into a relationship, but trying to get you _into_ one in the first place is the tricky part.”

Well, no arguing with that.

“Your dad was a classic heartthrob in high school – he got all the girls without lifting a finger. We met in a bar a few years after graduation, and word got around that he liked me, but it took the longest time for him to ask me out again. Actually, I think I ended up cornering him.” Her voice was full of nostalgia, and it made Dean wonder if he’d ever end up talking about someone like that, if he’d be talking about _Cas_ like that one day. “The point is, you’re full of confidence until you realise how much you want something, and then you get too scared of losing it.”

“Even as my mother, you know way too much about me.” Dean grumbled, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up.

“Honey, did you ever see the way Castiel would look at you?” Dean shook his head, his curiosity clearly roused.  “At first I thought I was imagining it, but then it kept happening. He looks at you as though you’re the most important thing in the world – almost like you’re at the centre of his. Sometimes you’d give a similar look back too.”

“And, _that_ is my cue to leave right this instant.”

 

********

 

Dean kind of owed Jo big time now; she’d covered for him a lot during the past couple of weeks while he was out destroying his liver. So he decided the only way to settle this was by buying her breakfast, because really, she should have talked him out of it instead of helping him get away with it. But Dean was willing to let it slide; he reluctantly assumed he was in the middle of the ‘honeymoon stage’ and wasn’t his usual irritable self.

That’s how he ended up being caught out, again. Dean thought it would be pleasant conversation over pancakes and bacon, but no, apparently that didn’t cut it. Instead, he was being interrogated.

“So it’s about time you told me what the hell has been going on.” Jo filled her mouth with pancakes and reached across the table for more maple syrup.

“I don’t know – does it really matter? I mean everything’s fine now…”

“Was it about Cas?”

Dean choked on his orange juice and managed to spit out a piece of bacon across the booth in Jo’s general direction. “Why does everyone keep saying that?!”

“Because there’s a weird amount of unresolved tension between you guys all the time.” She scrunched her face up and pretended to shudder at the thought, earning herself a kick in the shin from Dean. “And Pam may have told me that she thinks there’s--” she made a wild and unintelligible gesture with her hands, “ _something_ between you two.”

“Even if I don’t tell you, you’re gonna beat it out of me later, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much.”

“We kissed, shit hit the fan in huge proportions, and now we’re cool. I don’t know, I guess we’re a thing?”

“A thing? As in _boyfriends_?” Her eyebrows shot up and Dean could see her trying to contain her laughter. He just grabbed the syrup from her and distracted himself by smothering his pancakes with it.

“You’re not funny, Joanna Beth.” Dean smiled smugly when Jo scowled at her full name. But something about this whole discussion was still getting under Dean’s skin. “Why are you so calm about this – how come you’re not even surprised?”

“Oh my god, it’s been so obvious that you guys are clearly in love with each other. Me and Pam should get medals or something – it was actually _painful_ to watch.”

Dean was thankful for the fact that his phone vibrated in his pocket at that moment; anything to drag him away from that conversation was much appreciated. When he checked his texts, he saw that Cas had bombarded him. 

_-It’s 9AM and I’m awake. I’d tell you to feel proud, but I just haven’t slept yet.”_

_-Zachariah just left for a business trip, he’s away for 4 days. Thank you, Lord._

_-You should stay over._

_-He left me an obscene amount of money – come over and eat pizza with me later._

All Dean could do was chuckle and shake his head; he’d missed everything weird about Castiel much more than he thought he would.

 

********

 

Dean rolled up at Cas’ house around five o’clock, and tried to pretend he wasn’t all hyped up about it just being the two of them. He felt fourteen again, getting excited and nervous about what could potentially happen without the watchful eyes of parents. He knew it was ridiculous – he’d done worse when his own parents were sleeping soundly down the hall – but this was different. It was the thought of him and Cas being able to do whatever they wanted, whether it be drinking a beer with their feet on the table, or go at it on the living room couch, without Zachariah there to watch them intently and reproach Castiel. 

Dean also didn’t expect Cas to answer the door in a pair of sweats slung low across his hips, and one of Dean’s old Led Zeppelin shirts that he’d let Cas wear home once.

“Uh, hi.” Dean’s articulation had flown out the window at the sight of Cas, and his ruffled hair did nothing to help. 

“Hello.” He smiled and stood in the doorway, waiting for Dean to get his wits together. 

“Did you seriously just get out of bed?”

 “Do you even need to ask that question?” Cas stepped aside and walked back into the house, leaving Dean to shut the door and follow behind. 

“I swear to God, in a past life you were some crazy insomniac who never slept and now you’re making up for it.” He joked, catching up to Cas as he disappeared into the kitchen and jumped up onto the counter. 

Dean felt as though Cas was waiting for something, waiting for Dean to make a speech or explode, or maybe both. But the hesitant look on his face and his closed-off body language definitely said ‘waiting’. 

Even after what happened at the lake, Cas was still wary about this. And if telling Cas all the reasons why he wanted to be him would dispel his apprehension, well Dean would go ahead and do it. “So… are we gonna talk about, us?” 

“Do we need to?” Dean couldn’t ignore the conflicted expression that flashed across Cas’ face, and obviously Cas did want to talk about it, he was just worried about scaring Dean off. 

“I don’t know, man, you saw what happened the last time we didn’t talk about it.” 

Castiel seemed to turn it over in a mind for a while, before continuing. “I like you a lot and I don’t want to be with anyone else. We don’t have to put this under a microscope or even give it a name; I just want to be around you without feeling restrained.” He paused and bit down on his lip, looking at Dean with slight trepidation. “Is that okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah – that’s perfect.” He nodded, crossing the room the stand in front of Cas. “Look I don’t – there’s nobody else but you, okay?”

Castiel broke out into a grin and looked at Dean with a wide-eyed fondness that made him want to cover his face entirely, but he managed minimal fidgeting.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Cas asked suddenly, his excitement already building. “Downstairs.”

Cas’ eagerness was understandable really, since there was only one television in the house and Zachariah essentially supervised it. It was a total waste, Dean thought, having a huge flat screen in the living room but needing Zachariah’s approval of the show to use it, because obviously he was going to decide most things were inappropriate.

Zachariah couldn’t cover their eyes entirely though, so Castiel wasn’t entirely cut off. He had a collection of DVDs in a storage box beneath his bed, and could watch TV shows on his laptop if he wanted to. So Dean was hardly surprised when Cas went away and came back with his Lord Of The Rings boxset in hand.

“Well this is going to be a crazy party.” Dean said sarcastically as Cas scampered off into the next room.

 

********

 

It wasn’t significantly different from any other time they’d hung out; in fact, there were few changes and all of them were tiny. Like the way their thighs touched because Cas would always sit too close, instead shooting worry through Dean’s veins like it used to, it put him as ease and was comforting. When Cas squirmed around to sit cross-legged, Dean didn’t whine at the space he was hogging, but let Cas lean closer into his side. 

“You’re staring.” Cas tore his gaze away from the screen for a second, to glance at Dean, who was indeed staring shamelessly. 

“Does it feel weird to be on the receiving end for once?” 

“No,” he frowned a little, as if Dean was talking complete nonsense. “It feels nice.” 

Cas quirked a little smile, and it was all Dean could do to lean down and press his lips against it, catching Cas in a small kiss. Dean was still caught off-guard with how easy and natural it felt, as though this was always how it was going to end up.

Dean was about to pull away when Cas put his hand on his jaw and pressed closer to him, kissing him harder, catching Dean’s lip between his teeth and biting down. Dean moaned quietly, his hands moving to Cas’ hips to drag him over. Cas settled in Dean’s lap and pushed himself even closer, licking into Dean’s mouth and running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Dean remembered the look Cas had gotten when he’d pulled his hair last time, and he grabbed fistfuls of it between his fingers and tugged enough bring a whine out of him, as well a hard dip of his hips.

As Dean’s palms slipped underneath Cas’ t-shirt and spread across the planes of his back, the doorbell rang obnoxiously and the sound echoed through the house. Cas pulled back, lips pink and slick, and inclined his head towards the foyer.

“Pizza’s here.” He said when Dean tried to get at his mouth again.

“You’re seriously going to stop this for pizza?” Dean complained incredulously, leaning back to raise an eyebrow.

“The pizza is here now, _we_ have all night.” And well, Dean couldn’t argue with that, so he settled down comfortably again after Cas hopped off his lap and went to the door. He returned with two large pizza boxes balancing in one hand, and a couple of beers in the other.

“Wow, Cas, you’re turning into a problem child already.” Dean remarked sarcastically, yelping when Cas punched him in the arm afterwards. He dragged the coffee table right up to the couch and spread everything out on top of it, not even saying anything when Dean put his feet up. He just settled back next to Dean with a slice of pizza, eyes once again glued to the screen.

Dean was hoping to continue their interrupted kiss, but apparently his stomach had different ideas, and made a low rumbling sound. Cas peered over at him with a sideways glance, and raised his eyebrows. “Your stomach is louder than the movie.”

Dean stuffed half a slice in his mouth at once, and scoffed. “Dude, you’ve seen this a thousand times – why do you like it so much?” He was only teasing, he liked it a lot too, but it was worth seeing the frustrated little frown on Cas’ face as he squirmed.

“I liked the books… and it’s all based on Norse mythology, it’s an interesting contrast to the Christian stories I was brought up on.” He sat up rigid for a few seconds, as if remembering all the times Zachariah had told him those stories with added gory details just to scare him and Anna. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Dean nodded and shuffled over, just pressing his shoulder into Cas enough to get him to relax and slouch in his seat again. “Like what?”

“Have you thought about what colleges you’re applying to?”

Dean puffed out a sigh and took a long chug of beer. Cas was definitely going to get on his case about this one; possibly even more than his mother already did. The thought alone was terrifying.

“I’m not going.”

 Castiel reached for the remote and paused the movie, turning around to face Dean instantly. “What do you mean?” He asked, looking at Dean with a face of genuine confusion and the inability to understand.

“I just – there’s no point – you know? Sammy wants to go to an Ivy League, and he’s gonna get in, and we won’t have enough money to send both of us. So Sam should go – it’s all he ever talks about and I’m not gonna let him miss out because of me.” He rolled the beer bottle between his palms and avoided Cas’ eye, already able to feel the sympathy they would be swimming in. He didn’t want that, he didn’t want Cas to change his mind and let him think he could have this, not when he’d be the one stuck with the guilt.

“Dean, you don’t have--”

“It’s fine. I’m going to work with my dad – a family business kind of thing. I don’t mind.” Cas’ fingers were wrapped around his wrist now, and he was leaning over enough for Dean to smell his shampoo.

“I know you don’t mind – that’s the worse part. You’re so ready to give away everything you have.” Dean internally kicked himself for looking up; because just as expected, Cas’ eyes were wide with something he couldn’t put a name to. God, Dean really hated when Castiel did that; it always turned all of his reasoning to shit and practically made him putty in Cas’ hands. “You need to do this for yourself.”

“But Sam--”

“I have no doubts that Sam will fly through high school with enough intelligence to get a full scholarship,” Cas cut in, breaking out into a fond grin. “And _you_ could get a scholarship to any college you wanted, if you just opened your eyes.”

Dean wanted to argue back, but the firm tone of Cas voice and the iron grip on his wrist told him to bury his stubbornness. He just swallowed around the lump in his throat and looked at Cas with half a smile, not quite believing the amount of faith that Castiel had in him. It seemed impossible that he could sound so sure that Dean should do this, that he _could_ do this.

“Just think about it.” Cas said, and picked the remote up again.

 

********

Dean liked waking up to Cas.

A lot.

He liked the way his face would smooth out while he was asleep, and he’d only look about fifteen years old. Dean liked that he sometimes mumbled quietly, and a lot of the time it sounded like a completely different language, but sometimes Dean could pick out his name among the gibberish.

Dean especially liked hearing his name in conjunction to Cas rolling into his side sporting morning wood.

Cas was not a morning person, Dean was fully aware of this, but he also didn’t feel like sitting idly by while Cas rubbed one off on him. Dean’s fingers ghosted over the skin where Cas’ t-shirt had ridden up, just light touches across his hipbones and around his sides. Cas arched into the touch a little, but showed no renewed signs of waking up. Dean slipped his hand up further and pushed Cas’ shirt out of the way, his fingertips digging in harder as he mapped out the expanse of Cas’ abdomen. He moved in closer and pressed a kiss to Cas’ neck, just soft pecks from his jaw down to his collarbone. Cas was humming quietly now, and Dean assumed that he was somewhere between the realms of sleep and consciousness now.

Dean’s fingers dipped into Cas’ navel and slid just below the waistband of his boxers, as his teeth grazed against the juncture of Cas’ neck and shoulder. He jolted awake with a hitch of his breath and tensed, before going vaguely limp again.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, his words thick with sleep and voice scratchy with disuse.

Dean didn’t look up, just pressed a kiss to the hollow of Cas’ throat instead and mumbled into the skin there. “Do you want me to stop?” He waited for Cas’ answer, the seconds dragging on relentlessly until Cas shook his head and stuttered out a no.

Dean smirked and pushed Cas onto his back, moving himself to sit above Cas’ legs. Dean wasted no time in ripping the bed sheets away and grabbing at Cas’ shirt to pull it over his head, before slipping his underwear down mid-thigh as well. Cas watched in earnest as Dean spread his palms out across his thighs, the edges of his nails pressing into Cas’ flesh a little as he deliberately tried to get him worked up.

“Dean--”

Whatever Cas was going to say was quickly consumed by the shaky breath he let out when Dean wrapped his hand around his cock and got to work. It felt different to the time at the lake house; that was a spur of the moment fumble around in bed, brought on by weeks of sexual frustration and emotional constipation. This, well this felt more intimate than Dean was ready for, and the room was already stuffy with heat and want radiating from Cas. He was nervous - not that he’d admit it - but he wanted to short-circuit Cas’ brain and make him forget he’d ever been touched by anyone else.

He almost felt as though he was suffocating; just watching Cas come undone was making his skin prickle hotly, as if Cas’ want was bleeding into him. Dean wasn’t sure what else to do except what usually set _him_ off; he twisted his wrist every time he came to tip of Cas’ cock, and when his thumb skidded across the slit Cas let out a cracked moan.

Dean leant forward and tried to ignore the fact that he was now incredibly hard, aching for friction as Cas fucking keened beneath him, biting back breathy moans and curses as Dean’s hand worked him for all his worth. It would have been complete torture if Dean hadn’t been shamelessly getting off on the sounds Cas was making as his hips bucked and hands fisted in the haphazard sheets. Dean mouthed at Cas’ chest, his tongue lapping at the tang of sweat on skin. He moved up, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, some hard enough to leave darkening marks, and grinned when Cas arched up into his teeth scraping over a nipple.

“Fuck, I love seeing you like this.” A groan caught in Cas’ throat at the sound of Dean’s voice next to his ear, low and dirty. “I’ve been thinking about it all week – the sounds you make, the look on your face.” Dean didn’t know what he was saying, he was just running his mouth on autopilot, but Cas was eagerly lapping it up. The same fiery heat that Dean had felt at the lake house surrounded them now, and Cas biting down on his lip and closing his eyes at Dean’s words just fuelled it. “God, the way you look when you come.”

Dean let his teeth sink into Cas’ neck and felt him shudder beneath him, Cas’ mouth forming a wordless cry as he spilled out into Dean’s hand. They ignored the phone that was ringing as Dean loosened his grip on Cas’ cock and stroked him through it, until Castiel’s hand was scrabbling at the windowsill for his cell.

“Hello?”

Dean almost laughed at how wrecked Castiel sounded; his voice languid and hoarse with a haze that was fast sweeping over him. Dean rolled back onto his side, pressed right up into Cas, enough that he could hear both sides of the call.

“I know that voice – you only sound _that_ relaxed post-orgasm.” Crowley; Dean rolled his eyes and dragged his fingers through the come that had pooled on Cas’ stomach. “Did Dean finally pluck up the courage?”

“I, uh, did you need something?” Cas said, only to have Dean push two fingers dripping in come past his lips. Cas sucked them down until his tongue was licking at the webbing between Dean’s fingers, and pulled off with an obscene pop, his gaze boring into Dean.

“Christ, Cas, your fucking mouth.” Dean drawled, hypnotised by the lazy suggestion in Cas’ eyes. Now all he could think about was what _else_ Cas could do with that mouth.

“And _that_ is where I hang up.” Crowley sounded vaguely amused, but mostly disturbed, and Cas just threw the phone across the room and yanked Dean up by a handful of hair.

“You can choose a movie today.” He smiled contentedly, pulling Dean in for a slow, open kiss.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean and Cas lay in bed together, and Dean liked this morning even more than the last, their legs tangled up in the bunched up sheets at their ankles. They were on their sides, face to face, as the early sun leaked through the blinds and danced on their bare skin in strips of light. Dean’s eyes were closed – sleepily opening occasionally to glance as Cas – but it just seemed to make him hyperaware of everything else about Castiel. If Dean pressed his face closer in Cas’ shoulder he could pick out the smell of mint shower gel on his skin, and even hints of the raspberry shampoo that Cas claimed was Anna’s. He could hear the sound of his breathing, slow and relaxed, a subtle rhythm that had fast become a lullaby to Dean. 

It was the feel of Cas’ skin that Dean was most perceptive of though. His palm had been resting on Dean’s bicep for a while now, leaving behind the constant sensation of both warmth and coolness. But Dean felt something else, a new touch now, one that was plainer and less soothing than Cas’. Dean cracked an eye open to see Cas drawing around his fingers with a red Sharpie, leaving behind a full-sized handprint. 

“That’s never going to come off,” Dean noted, his voice still croaky and thick with sleep. Cas just smiled contentedly and admired his handiwork.

“That’s the whole _point_ ,” he emphasising his words with a soft punch to Dean’s chest, “I want everyone to know that you’re mine.” 

A smirk curled up across Cas’ lips as he said this; his tone had taken on an element of pride and was unexpectedly serious. The sheer possessiveness of it instantly had Dean feeling a little hot and prickly, but he’d woken up not ten minutes ago and was still only half-conscious. 

Instead, he settled for giving Cas affectionate little kisses over his shoulder and in the dip of his collarbone, wriggling in closer until their chests were pushed together. Cas had taken to trailing his fingertips lightly across the outline of Dean’s side. Sometimes he would get caught up in it though, and would start tracing the lines and ridges of Dean’s muscles. But at that moment, Cas’ fingers were moving in figures of eight over the side of Dean’s midriff, as he bit his lip hard and his forehead creased into a small frown. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean mumbled into Cas’ skin, craning his neck to look up at him. Dean recognised the conflicted expression Cas was sporting – it was the same one he got when he indulged in his guilty pleasure of reading John Green books, or when he was doing calculus and couldn’t decide whether to punch math in the face or worship it for making him feel so accomplished. 

Cas quickly tried to look as neutral as he could manage, but Dean was having none of his pretences and jerked his knee into Cas’ shin. 

“I really, _really_ like you Dean,” Cas’ fingers stopped as he paused, “but I feel like that word is so, inadequate and belittling in comparison to how I feel about you.” 

Dean’s pulse quickened as he took in what Cas was saying, and became anxious about what was coming next. He’d never been one for discussing his feelings and what relationships meant. Mainly because he didn’t _have_ those kind of relationships. 

“I’ve never really had the slightest idea of what love is supposed to feel like, but I hope it’s something like this,” Castiel looked straight at Dean in the way that made him think Cas could see right through all the layers of him to peer into his soul. “Staying in bed all day because nothing could tempt you away from the person lying next to you, or the inexplicable warmth that grows in your chest when you look at that person,” Dean blinked a few times and told himself that too much pollen was drifting in through the window, that was the only reason his eyes were watering and his throat was so dry. “Wanting to risk _everything_ just to stay with them, because they make you a better person.” 

Dean found himself unable to do anything but stare back at Cas, eyes shining and mouth hanging open in incredulous wonder. He wanted so badly to kiss every inch of Cas’ face and tell him all the different things he felt for him, but Cas was right – there weren’t words that could even begin to describe those things. And even if he _could_ phrase it without oozing cheesiness, it was too soon and this was still so new, just admitting how much he loved having this would be asking for it be ripped away from him. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas brought Dean out of his jumble of thoughts with a voice of concern and a touch to his cheek. “Was that – was that too much? Anna always said I can’t filter my--” 

“No, no it was uh, awesome.” Dean cleared his throat hastily - which was definitely _not_ hoarse from being close to crying – and smiled at Cas, small and genuine as they lazed in silence for a while. “Thanks, Cas.” 

“For what?” 

“Just… for staying, I guess. You had so many opportunities to just go and forget I exist, but even when I would have deserved that you still stayed.” 

Castiel frowned and tried to stop himself from huffing out an indignant noise. He dragged his fingers lightly across the new stubble on Dean’s jaw and tilted his chin up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” Cas barely pulled back, his words falling into Dean’s mouth. “I swear I won’t leave, I couldn’t do that, Dean.” 

Dean smiled as his face flushed and heat pooled in his belly, and was about to press back for another kiss when the door swung open.

Zachariah stood in the doorway, his face red and knuckles white as they clutched at the doorknob. “What is going on here?” He said, slowly gritting the words out through his teeth. 

Zachariah was back a day early and there was no explaining anything. He’d caught them half naked, in bed, in a clearly compromising position – both of their necks and chests were probably mottled with dark hickeys as well. Not to mention the clothes strewn about the living room and the stale pizza and takeout cartons littering the kitchen. 

“I leave for three days and you’re lying in a bed of _filth_ with Dean Winchester.” Zachariah spat, Dean and Cas already scrambling out of bed to fumble around on the floor for their clothes. Dean’s pulse was through the roof as he tripped over his own feet trying to put his jeans on, and Cas was silent and trembling next to him. 

“This is unforgiveable.”

Dean looked up at Zachariah; he wasn’t scared. No, he was pure angry. He wanted to ram Zachariah’s head into a wall until he was bloody and whimpering. But he held his tongue and took deep breaths, knowing whatever he did now; Cas would have to pay for later. 

“Get yourselves downstairs, right now.” Zachariah said, slamming the door with enough force to knock over the photo frames on the dresser. 

Castiel was already shoving what he could find of Dean’s things back into his duffel, a stone cold mask leaving his face expressionless. His room had never been messy until Dean had lived there for a few days, but now he was searching through clothes and books and CDs to get things in order. 

“Cas,” Dean crouched down next to him on the floor and took the duffel from his hands. “Cas, stop, it’s okay.” Castiel looked up at him and sighed, uncurling his fingers from their iron grip about the duffel’s handle. 

“It’s not okay.” He said quietly, frowning at Dean with his lips pressed together tightly. “It’s not, it’s--” 

“It will be fine – _we’ll_ be fine.” Dean reassured him firmly, placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezing gently. He pulled Cas to his feet and let him crowd into his space, noses almost touching as they breathed shallow and fast. 

“You should go, he won’t--” Castiel paused, looking down at his feet uneasily. “He won’t do anything to you, he can’t.” 

Dean grabbed Cas by either side of his face and forced him to look him in the eye, wishing that he would wipe away the stoic expression and show how fucking terrified he was. All Dean wanted was to take Cas by the hand and lead him away from here: away from this house, away from Zachariah, away from everything to do with this stifling life. It was wishful thinking though; Cas would never let him. He didn’t like to run away, he liked to face his hurdles head-on for the most part. Where could Cas run to anyway – Dean’s house? Zachariah would be breaking their door down in an instant. 

“I’m staying.”

Cas nodded and leant his forehead against Dean’s as he took deep breaths, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. Dean embedded in his mind the sensation of Cas’ stubble beneath his palms, the hot press of his cheeks, the feeling of his fingers clinging to the hem of his shirt. He might not get to feel those things for a while, he realised that, and if Zachariah was going to punch a hole inside of Dean then he needed a little reminder to fill it with. He kissed Cas hard, but pulled away with the knowledge that the longer they kept Zachariah waiting, the worse things would be. 

They came downstairs and found Zachariah in his study, the door left wide open to show him sitting rigid in his desk chair. Castiel led them both in, and stopped in front of the desk to face him. His hands were fisted at his sides, and Dean quietly dropped his duffel to the ground. 

“How long has this been going on for?” Zachariah asked, his words cutting through the air like knives, their sharpness precise and backed by fury. 

“Over a week.” Castiel replied, his voice equally as clipped and loud in the otherwise silent room. 

“During which you’ve been sneaking around behind my back.” Zachariah served it up with a malicious smile, one that made Dean’s stomach turn and gave him the urge to roll his eyes. But he stayed completely still, keeping his stare focused on the gold cross hanging on the wall behind Zachariah’s head. 

“Yes.” 

Dean flexed his fingers to stop himself from reaching out to touch the small of Cas’ back or grab his hand, just something to calm him down. He was angry, defensive, and anxious, but Dean could just see it backfiring at any moment. Zachariah was no fan of insolence; Cas had let Dean know that much, and he was toeing the line already. 

“Dean, I suggest you go home now.” Zachariah turned his sneer in Dean’s direction and folded his hands in his lap, leaning back in his chair. Dean straightened up and opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Cas beat him to it. 

“Dean, go.” Cas was looking at him now, eyes wide and pleading as he mouthed a soundless ‘please’. Dean wasn’t usually good at denying Cas many things, but it was damn near impossible when he looked as desperate as he did now. So Dean slowly nodded and picked up his duffel, slinging it over his shoulder as he turned around and walked out the door. He kept going and resisted the temptation to glance back, knowing it would only be counterproductive, and dragged his feet straight out of the front door.

 

********

Dean couldn’t actually bring himself to get out the car when he arrived home. He was immobile in his seat, hands still gripping tightly to the steering wheel as the engine kept running. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed out there; after the Metallica tape ended he’d lost sense of time all together. Sam was the one who trudged outside and let himself into the car, sitting himself next to Dean. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam sneaked a glance at Dean, but decided it would be safer just to focus on picking at a loose thread on his shirtsleeve. Dean knew what he was doing; Sam was treating him like a wild animal he didn’t want to scare off, tiptoeing around him carefully. Usually that would just rile Dean up even quicker, but he couldn’t find the energy to even try getting annoyed. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“You’ve been sitting out here for half an hour, Dean, obviously something is up.” Sam reached over to turn the ignition off and stop the humming of the engine in the background. Dean uncurled his fingers from the steering wheel; they’d stiffened to become almost claw-like now, and he spent some time cracking his knuckles to straighten them out. 

“It’s Cas--” 

“Is he okay?” 

“Cas is… Cas is fine, or he will be, I hope.” Dean slouched down further into the leather and rubbed the heels of his palms in his eyes. He didn’t know that Cas would be fine; for all he knew his head could be on a platter right now, or Zachariah could be giving him a few good old-fashioned lashes with his belt. “It’s just Zachariah, he’s on the warpath.” 

“What did Cas do?” Sam frowned and looked up at Dean in confusion, his eyes scrunched up as he tried to make sense of Dean’s enigmatic stuttering. Dean huffed out a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“I can’t – it’s complicated, Sammy – just, don’t worry.” Dean stared up at the roof of the Impala, thinking that maybe if he wished hard enough, Sam would say okay and they’d go inside and everything would stay normal. Of course that would never be an option though, Sam just scoffed indignantly, reminding Dean that he wasn’t some naïve kid, but he was an annoying little brother who could wheedle anything out of Dean. 

“He’s my friend too.” It only got progressively worse; now Sam was looking at Dean with a soft, sad expression and the gooiest puppy-dog eyes he could muster up. That just – that wasn’t fair, at all. Sam was a bad human being who used being adorable as a cover for actually being a conniving squirt. 

“Zachariah is throwing a bitch fit because he saw me and Cas kissing. Because we were. We were kissing.” The words flew out of Dean’s mouth in a hurry, before he’d had any time to think them through or make them sound any less, well, surprising. 

Except they weren’t. 

Sam’s expression was ninety per cent neutral, and ten per cent something else that Dean didn’t want to acknowledge – mainly because it looked a little smug. 

“Oh, okay.” 

“ _Okay_? That’s all you have to say? ‘ _Okay’_ – for Christ’s sake, I’ve been screwing around with my best friend for a week!” Dean’s voice was reaching a pitch only audible to canines, and with every octave Sam’s eyebrows reached new heights on his forehead. 

“I guess I just saw it coming.” Sam shrugged, the gentle flush on his cheeks betraying all his nonchalance. “I mean the tension has been building all year, it was pretty hard to ignore – trust me, I tried.” Sam started squirming around a little and glanced out of the window towards the house, clearly looking for an escape out of their vehicle of discomfort. 

Dean shook his head and snorted a laugh, giving Sam a light punch in the arm. “You’re wise beyond your years, Sammy.” It didn’t stop him from ruffling his brother’s hair, all the same. 

“But is Cas gonna be alright?” Sam sounded genuinely concerned as he tried to shake his mussed hair back to the realm of flatness. 

“I don’t know, kiddo. I sure hope so.” Dean stared up at the roof of the car and said a half-assed, but desperate and heart-felt prayer for Cas. 


	15. Chapter 15

Dean coasted through the next few days as a nervous wreck. 

It was understandable, really, because the last time he saw Cas the guy was facing his asshole uncle without an ounce of remorse in him, and was too scared of what might happen to let Dean stay. That was more than enough to keep Dean on edge. Not that he’d show it, of course. No – he was Dean Winchester after all, and was going to handle this by sucking it up and putting on a happy face while his emotional unbalance ate him from the inside out.

Every time Dean had tried to call Cas he’d suffered through the drones of ringing until he was ultimately greeted by his voicemail. So when Cas finally decided to get in contact with Dean, it was a huge weight of concern lifted off his shoulders.

“Cas! Jesus Christ, you took your time to call! Are you okay?” Dean rushed, having absolutely no patience for pleasantries anymore.

“I’m fine…” Cas’ voice was calm and even, but there was nothing of his signature sureness. He was hesitating, holding something back, and Dean’s stomach dropped. 

“But?”

“Zachariah doesn’t want me to see you again.” 

Dean was only struck silent for a moment; it was unsettling to hear, but it wasn’t as if he expected anything else. Zachariah was never going to give them the green light to scramble about in bed together – he probably already thought they were sneaking around in the back rooms of churches committing sodomy. 

“So tell him to go screw himself – you’re not a kid anymore, he can’t control your entire life.” Dean said gruffly, an irritated edge to his voice as he imagined Castiel stiffly complying with Zachariah’s demands, just to appease him. 

Castiel was still worked up though, and Dean knew he shouldn’t be so tetchy after what had just happened, but he felt like he was standing on a precipice. He _wanted_ this, for once he could truly admit it, and Cas was about to give up already – and for what? 

“So you’re telling me that if your dad gave you a specific order, you’d outright disobey him?” There it was – the fiery backlash that Castiel had been holding back all this time. It was like creaking open a floodgate, being hit by just a fraction of the anger Cas had been harbouring since they got caught. 

Dean knew better than to take it personally though; he’d be goddamn angry too if he was living under Zachariah’s roof and rules. But what Cas was talking about, that was different. There was no denying that Dean did everything his father asked of him, loyal down to every bone in his being, and always just wanting to please him. But John was his dad; he’d given Dean reason to look at him with rose-tinted glasses, and for all his exterior gruffness he’d raised Dean with genuine affection. 

“Zachariah isn’t your dad.” Dean pointed out quietly, trying his best to avoid a blazing argument. 

Cas, however, apparently did not receive that memo because his voice boomed across the line with a snappy tone. “Well unfortunately he has all the authority of my father and more. In case it escaped your attention – my dad isn’t around and Zachariah is the only family I have left!” 

“Don’t say that--” 

“I don’t have Anna anymore,” Cas steamrolled on, as if Dean hadn’t even interrupted him with hurt leaking through his words. “And as much as Gabriel cares, we’ll always be friends more than family--” 

“Well you’re family to me!” Dean cut in again, now bristled with agitation and frustration. He was affronted that Cas could rant about having nobody, when he was sitting right there on the other side of the call, just to hear that he was going to be okay. Cas was going to tell him that he was alone when Dean had been the one to pick up the pieces that Anna left behind, the one to fill all the spaces of his old life, the one to fit inside the void that Castiel used Crowley to forget about. “And you’d know that if you would just shut your mouth for one damn minute!” 

Cas was silent, and the only sound that came through was the muffled rustling of sheets as he sat down on his bed in disbelief.  “Do you mean that?” Dean was struck by a wave of irritated fondness; Cas had retreated back into his own shell and was left with nothing but a low opinion of himself - something that he usually reserved for too-intimate times with Dean. 

“Cas, I don’t joke about this. You are weird, detached, and downright irritating sometimes, but me and Sam – both of us – we see you as family. So don’t you dare walk out thinking you have to do this by yourself!” 

“Thanks, Dean.” There was an awkward pause wherein Dean could imagine Cas’ cheeks burning up with a pink blush creeping up his neck. Neither of them were very good at receiving compliments from the other – or whatever the hell that just was – so Dean didn’t take it personally that Cas wasn’t crying over it. Honestly, his inarticulateness said quite enough. 

“You’ll call if you’re get into real trouble though – if Zachariah gets out of hand?” Dean said it optimistically; although he was sure Cas could pick out the uncertainty there. Cas was as stubborn as he was, and it was unlikely that he’d ask for help if he got his own way. 

“Of course.” Dean could just picture Cas’ sad smile as he said it, probably perched on the edge of the bed with his back hunched and dark circles underneath his eyes. “I have to go. Bye, Dean.”

 

********

What Dean didn’t expect to see a couple days later, was Cas standing on his doorstep, bike already discarded on the grass, as he rang the bell repeatedly. When Dean opened the door and saw Cas bouncing on his heels in front of him, he just rolled his eyes and stepped outside. 

“Dude, you have a phone for a reason, how about using it now and again?”

Castiel smiled a little, just an upturn of the corners of his mouth, before he grabbed Dean’s face and mashed his mouth against his for a brief moment. He pulled away and ducked his head, as if he was embarrassed by his little outburst of affection. 

“I think we should sit down…” Dean mumbled, dragging Castiel by the sleeve to sit on the steps of the porch. 

“I have had the most surreal day ever. I can’t believe any of it even happened.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at the sky, already a dark blue speckled with bursts of light. “I saw my dad.” He said simply, not even looking away from the stars or a change of expression on his face. 

“What?” Dean was lost. He was used to Cas talking and not making complete sense, half of his sentences in his head the rest blurted out with no context, but this was worse. For starters, Cas had cycled to his house at ten in the evening, kissed him, and dropped this bombshell – that wasn’t everyday behaviour. “Cas, come on, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“I went to the aquarium to clear my head, and he just sat down next to me. I always thought I’d know straight away when I saw him again, like it would hit me on instinct and I’d just get a feeling – but I didn’t. He was just some guy with a scruffy beard and a nice smile.” And just like that Cas was back to doom and gloom, looking at Dean with a crestfallen droop to his features. 

“It’s been nine years since you saw him last, nobody can blame you for not recognising him.” Dean reassured him softly, in an attempt to prevent him from burying himself in guilt. He thought about how similar they really were, in that they shared all the worst traits. “So what did he say?” Dean still wanted to coax the story out of him, knowing that it wasn’t impossible for Cas to decide he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

Cas just nodded slightly and continued. “He started telling me about how he used to take his son there, and sitting in that tunnel would keep him grounded, feeling so small. I wanted to believe it was him but when I looked I just, I couldn’t, not after all this time.” Dean shuffled along the step so he could sit right next to Cas, their sides pressed together snugly. “I don’t know what happened next, he was talking and smiling and telling me all these things about how he never wanted to leave us behind or let things get so bad, but I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. I just sat there staring at this man that was a ghost to me.” 

“Did he at least apologise – explain why he never tried to stay in your life?” Dean asked, trying to stay calm and collected for Cas’ sake, when honestly he was seething a little on the inside. Cas sighed heavily and scrubbed at the side of his face, looking all together drained from reliving the experience. 

“It was all Zachariah – everything. He blocked my dad’s calls, refused to let him near us, and checked all of our mail. You know my dad sent Anna and I birthday and Christmas cards every year? They never saw the light of day, probably locked up in Zachariah’s office somewhere.”

“That dick – you’re gonna confront him about it, right?” Dean couldn’t hold back the resentment in his voice as he blinked at the sheer nerve of Zachariah. He’d always though the guy was sketchy, was in no position to act as a parental figure, had let religion pull at his screws – but it’d never occurred to him that he’d go this far. 

“I can go one step better than that, Dean.” He perked up again, eyes wide with a secret that he was bursting to tell. Dean knew that look; it meant Cas had a plan and nobody was talking him out of it. 

“You’re going to do something crazy, and I’m not gonna like it, am I?” Cas chuckled softly and nudged his shoulder into Dean’s, knocking him off balance temporarily. It wasn’t enough to deter Dean though, and he was staring Cas down with a no-nonsense glare. 

“I’m going to tell Zachariah what I really think of him, and then I’m going to move back in with my dad.” He smiled proudly, and Dean was conflicted as to whether he was in love with the devious glint in Cas’ eye or totally, and entirely opposed to it. It was a fine line, and Dean’s moral compass had a propensity for being questionable, so he just cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. 

“Be careful, okay, your dad has probably changed a lot.” 

Cas nodded and looked as though he was turning it over in his mind for a moment, but in the end he just shrugged it off. “I know he has; he lost a lot and you can’t just overlook that. But I’m different too, and it will be hard and uncomfortable and tense at times, but I’d choose him in a heartbeat over Zachariah.” He stretched an arm behind Dean and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, keeping his face close to Dean’s neck as his warm breath puffed against his skin. “Besides, I already told him about you and he’s happy for me.” 

Dean couldn’t help but let all of his trepidation be swallowed by the warm tugging in his chest and the feel of Cas’ smile against his neck.

 

********

If someone had told Dean he’d be spending the last days of summer before senior year in bed with Castiel, he probably would have grumbled incessantly – that or laugh until he peed a little. If someone had told Dean he’d be in bed with Castiel with both of their clothes on, _cuddling_ , he probably would have ripped them a new one. 

No, this was not cuddling – Dean _refused_ to call this cuddling. There had to be another name for having Cas in his lap, while he wrapped his limbs around him like a clingy octopus. 

“Which one’s your favourite?” Dean asked, hugging Cas closer to his chest as they stared up at the skylight above Cas’ bed. He hummed quietly as he thought about it, the sensation vibrating through Cas’ back to Dean’s front. 

“Orion.” 

“Why?” 

“I like the story behind it.” 

“Yeah?” Cas took hold of Dean’s hands and threaded his fingers through Dean’s, pressing a light kiss to them before dropping them back into his own lap. 

“In Greek mythology, Orion was a hunter. Homer describes him as the most handsome of the mortals and a great animal slayer, but Hesiod tells more about him. He hunted with the goddess Artemis, and threatened to kill every beast on Earth. Gaia felt affronted and objected to it, so she sent a giant scorpion to kill Orion. After he died, Zeus honoured Orion by putting him in the stars.” 

Cas craned his neck around to glance up at Dean, and his mouth pulled into a small smile at the amused look of fondness on Dean’s face, the one he got when Cas ran his mouth like a walking and talking encyclopaedia. 

“What?”

Dean squeezed Cas a little tighter and kissed the nape of his neck. “Don’t ever change, Cas.”


End file.
